Predatorial
by trufflemores
Summary: SPOILERS for "Star Trek: Into Darkness." They have him in their custody, but Kirk knows that it is not Harrison who feels trapped by his circumstances in the aftermath of the attack on Qo'noS. Hurt!Kirk. Ambiguous Spock/Kirk. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Kirk grunted as Spock eased him to his feet, Bones' voice echoing in his head: _Jim, your vitals are way off._ He could feel his left leg dragging slightly, excruciating pain blossoming from the center of his chest and radiating outward as his lower ribs screamed in protest. Spock's touch was light but firm, steadying him as he moved and applying as little pressure as physically possible. Kirk appreciated the consideration: he did not think he would be able to hold back a hiss of pain if Spock touched any of the injuries themselves. Thankfully, the walk was not far, and he was able to brush off Spock's hold comfortably as they shambled back to the shuttlecraft.

They found two of their guards waiting inside, weapons set to stun as Kirk and his companions approached. At once, they zeroed in on John Harrison, his windswept hair the only slight to his visible character as he strolled calmly alongside them. Spock had Harrison's own weapon trained on him, ready to act if he demonstrated even the slightest wavering in loyalty.

Predictably, Harrison did not. Kirk could not tell if he was disappointed or relieved, uncertainty twisting in his gut as he stumbled up to the platform, gratefully letting one of the guards take his weight as he held out a hand to steady him. "Captain?" he blurted out, bewildered and amazed, but Kirk reached out (another sunburst of pain shot through him, making his vision cloud over briefly before he regained control) and squeezed his shoulder once reassuringly.

"Not Captain," he reminded hoarsely, surprised at his own voice as he clambered inside the shuttlepod.

Half-expecting Harrison to strike him down from behind, he was not overtly surprised when Uhura came after him, Harrison following at her footsteps. "Weapons on stun," Kirk ordered his men, their shoulders snapping to attention as they leveled both guns pointedly at Harrison's chest. One of Harrison's eyebrows ticked upwards in mild amusement, but there was no other outward sign of his unease, not a single hint to suggest that he was anything other than content. Wordlessly, Kirk met Spock's gaze as he entered the room and told him, _Kill if you have to._

Spock inclined his head a fraction of an inch and waited until Kirk seated himself in his captain's chair before assuming his position at his right hand. In the span of six seconds, he disengaged the stabilization field at the base of the seat so he could swivel around, re-engaging the same field as he held the weapon at the ready, takng no chances with Harrison. Kirk did not need to tell him that he was grateful for his attention; he was too busy powering the shuttlepod back on to worry about as much.

"Engines ready, Captain," Spock reported without moving an inch, weapon still raised.

Kirk did not acknowledge him, waiting for the hiss of the doors to finish shutting before powering the ship up, its thrusters engaged. They rose slowly from the ground, Kirk's head swimming briefly before he gripped the center console tightly to steady himself. He noticed Uhura eyeing him doubtfully from her seat at his lefthand side and said nothing, not wanting to give her further reason to doubt. Steering them skyward until the ground below became nothing more than dust and darkness, the craters and corpses distance scars on the earth, he itched to question Harrison further.

It would be inconclusive at best, but he could not deny the desire.

"We're approaching the _Enterprise_," Uhura said aloud, after seven long minutes of silence. Kirk inclined his head, maximizing the thrusters, eager to be home and _done. _ He felt suddenly, irrationally tired, as though the world itself had fallen from beneath his feet and left him with nothing but dust to cling to. Straightening his shoulders as he breathed in slowly and gave the shuttlepod the last nudge it needed to glide into the transporter bay, Kirk focused on the mission at hand, knowing that apprehension was only phase one of the assignment.

Phase two was transport. Somehow he doubted that Harrison would be so quiescent aboard Kirk's ship, seeking an out while Kirk was unaware.

_You won't get away,_ he promised silently, landing the shuttlepod and grunting at the impact, stiffly rising from his seat and ignoring the untouched safety harness at his shoulder. "Kirk to _Enterprise_, come in, _Enterprise_."

"_Enterprise _to Kirk, we read you," Sulu replied, his calm, authoritative voice soothing in the silence.

It took Kirk a moment to recall that he had promoted Sulu to acting captain, shaking his head a little in disbelief before responding, "We have John Harrison in our custody. We're bringing him aboard now."

"Aye," Sulu said, and then, after a moment's deliberation: "Captain."

"Kirk out," was all Kirk said, snapping his communicator shut and looking at Spock expectantly.

Harrison rose from his seat in one fluid motion, his safety harness similarly untouched. Somehow Kirk doubted that his reasons were the same; in spite of the punishing blows Kirk had thrown at him, he appeared utterly unaffected, his entire visage bespeaking nothing more than irrepressible contempt.

_Is this the best you can do?_

Kirk's jaw stiffened as he led the way out of the shuttlepod, Uhura once more at his heels. Half a dozen security officers met them at the foot of the shuttelepod, two converging around Kirk at once, flanking him on either side. Kirk allowed it, assuring them, "I'm fine," as Harrison was led out of the shuttlepod, Spock's weapon trained at his back while Kirk's other security officers filed after him.

"You're shaking," Uhura commented, drawing Kirk back to his immediate present as pain rippled through him, threatening to cease the ragged breaths in his chest as crippling discomfort seared through him. He shook his head slightly to discourage her, keeping both eyes trained on Harrison as he was transferred delicately to the heart of a six guard formation, phaser guns held at the ready, weapons set for stun.

_He'll kill you, you know that._

_Your survival is unlikely._

Kirk met Spock's gaze and saw a flicker of concern there, his own weapon swiftly surrendered to the chief of security as they filed away, leading Harrison off to the brig. "Lieutenant Uhura is right," he said, advancing towards them and meeting Kirk's gaze unflinchingly. "You are not well."

"Not now, Spock," Kirk said, turning on his heel, already pulling out his communicator as he spoke. "Mr. Sulu, let Starfleet Command know that we have Harrison in our custody. Tell them we'll be bringing him back to Earth as soon as our warp core has been repaired."

"Aye, Captain," Sulu answered confidently.

Nodding once to himself as he entered the turbolift, still flanked by his guards, Kirk allowed his eyes to shut for half a second, feeling the aches all the way down to his toes.

Romulans were exceptional fighters, and he knew from personal experience that they were stronger than the average Human (_three times stronger, just like Vulcans_), but Klingons were worse, somehow, even though their strength was only twice as much. They wore armor, their tough, hide-like flesh repulsing blows and absorbing impacts far more effectively than tender Human skin. It was a well-known biological phenomenon that Klingons had extensive organ redundancy: even their spines could be regrown, in the case of exceptional circumstances, and they had no less than three cardiac chambers capable of regrowing into a full heart if need be. Their stamina was legendary in battle, and Kirk knew that if the fighting had lasted any longer that they would have been painfully ripped from limb to limb after being questioned extensively for their presence. As it was, he felt as if he had already been partially pulverized, his chest heaving as he drew in wet, silent breaths.

When he appeared on the bridge, Bones descended on him in an instant, tricorder in hand. He ached to tell him to leave him be, but he knew that argument would only make Bones more insistent, and he did not have the strength to resist him even for minor injuries. "Bones," he warned half-heartedly, brushing past him as he turned to Sulu for a full report. "How's our warp core coming along?" he asked, limping to the center of the bridge and ignoring the concerned looks from half a dozen officers on either side. As soon as he flicked his gaze to them, they returned to their stations, their gazes there and gone so quickly that Kirk knew it would be impossible to confirm that they had been looking at all. They were curious and afraid: two emotions Kirk knew unfortunately well, given their present predicament.

"Chekov hasn't been able to get it back online," Sulu admitted, grimly dissastisfied. "There's been a major leak in the antimatter compartment as well. They're working on containing that right now before repairing the damage to the warp core itself. So far the core temperature has been brought back down thirty percent."

"See that it continues," Kirk said, as Sulu nodded and relieved the captain's chair.

Kirk hesitated for a moment, tempted to tell him to sit down and resume the duties of captaincy so he could retire to his quarters for some sleep. He had not slept all night, Pike's death weighing heavily on his soul. He knew that if he had been faster, if he had somehow known that Pike was in imminent danger alongside Spock and the rest of the officers present, that he would have saved him. Instead he had been selfishly, stupidly focused on his own self-preservation, and he had not thought twice about it when the phaser fire had first blasted through the windows. He had dived for the floor, staying as low as possible as he scrambled from the room and hurried to disable the shuttlecraft before it destroyed them all. He had not been fast enough then, either, for by the time he successfully crashed Harrison's shuttle, there was nothing left to save but Spock and a few wounded officers, the rest already dead.

Sleep had been far from his mind that night, but nothing sounded more tempting as he stepped forward and slid slowly into the command chair. "Mr. Spock," he began, paging his communicator as Spock stepped out of the turbolift, brusque and unruffled.

"Captain," he replied calmly, stepping forward.

Kirk looked up at him, knowing that he could see every line of fatigue tracing his face and, equally, his obstinacy not to let it overcome him. He had failed to save Pike, but he would not fail to avenge him, and that began with John Harrison. Determination swept over him, giving him the strength to rise from the captain's chair without trembling and order, "Come with me."

"Jim, you're –"

"Not now, Bones," Kirk said, holding Spock's gaze as Bones made a frustrated sound behind him and let him go.

He knew, too. Thank God for intuition. "I need you to come with me," he said after a moment, breaking away from Spock's gaze to look at Bones. He faltered a moment at the intensity of Bones' stare, recognizing the genuine concern underlying his frustration, but he did not let his resolve waver as he finished in a low voice meant for their ears only, "He isn't human. I don't know what he is, but he isn't human."

Spock looked at him implacably. Bones' jaw stiffened, but he did not speak, as he followed Kirk off the bridge. "Sulu, you have the conn," Kirk said, disappearing inside the turbolift, Bones and Spock at his sides this time as the security officers remained behind, vanishing with the rest of them as the turbolift doors slid shut.

For one dizzying moment, vertigo swept Kirk, and he swayed where he stood as he leaned forward with the turbolift's descent. One of Bones' hands slid into place underneath his arm, oddly comforting as darkness briefly occluded hisvision, making it impossible to see. He smothered the panic that attempted to rise in him as it became near impossible to breathe, forcing himself to calm down as the turbolift slowed, Bones' grip never once loosing under his arm. Exhaustion washed over him, making it difficult to do more than swallow thin lungfuls of air, a steady hand on his lower back noticeably warmer than the other. _Spock._

"I've got you, Jim," Bones assured, releasing his grip under his arm to slide a hypo into place instead, Kirk flinching as the needle pierced his neck. "That should help."

It did: whatever it was, the panicky feeling of asphyxiation dissipated as the drug took effect, Kirk relaxing against Spock's hold even as the turbolift doors slid open. Taking three staggering steps forward – inexplicably grateful for Bones' hand under his arm once more as he resumed his former position, Spock gracefully stepping aside as half a dozen crew members turned to acknowledge their commanding officers – Kirk managed to regain his footing enough that he could walk on his own feet without stumbling. "Thank you," he managed, Bones' expression softening as he released his hold on him.

"Any time," was all he said.

Spock remained silent at Kirk's side, but he could feel his concern radiating off him. Tempted though he was, he resisted the urge to acknowledge that aloud – _no, I'm not _– as he approached the glass wall separating Harrison and them.

Suddenly Harrison's cool, utterly nonplussed demeanor infuriated him. Even as he watched Bones take a blood sample, he could not look away from those cold blue eyes, somehow so terribly like his own. Intense and ruthlessly determined, they cut through the layers of projected strength that Kirk emitted and rattled him to his core. He wanted to look away, to pretend that he had never met that gaze, that he had never seen the predator lurking within, but he could not, because this was the man that had killed Pike, and he would not be allowed to get away with it.

Not so long as Kirk lived.

"Why aren't we moving, Captain?" Harrison asked, low and silky, as Bones continued to take his sample, pointedly refusing to meet Harrison's gaze. Kirk was reassured to see that Spock was staring the war criminal down as well: what the half-Vulcan saw in him, Kirk would never know. Doubtless the same predator that Kirk did, but beyond that – the intense, overwhelming uneasiness – he would never know. "Perhaps an unexpected malfunction with your warp core, conveniently stranding you in the middle of Klingon space?"

"How the hell do you know that?" Bones demanded.

Kirk almost pinched him. Almost. "Bones," he settled on, quiet, cutting, and Bones' mouth snapped shut, too late.

"I think you would find my insight quite valuable," Harrison remarked.

Kirk was spared the necessity of answering as Bones finished collecting his sample, assuring that he would let him know what he found as he turned on his heel and strode off. Quenching the urge to call him back, knowing that he could not avoid nor deflect Harrison's presence, Kirk stared him down for a moment before turning and striding off, Spock at his side.

"Ignore me and you will get everyone on this ship killed," Harrison warned, his voice rising above its cool monotone enough that Kirk halted, almost staggering a step as Spock froze at his side, instantaneously alert.

Kirk did not move, but Spock must have seen it on his face – of course he did, Spock always knew, Spock saw everything – for he said, "Captain, I would not advise engaging the prisoner further, as I believe he will only attempt to manipulate you."

"Spock." And he wanted to tell him to stay, too, to back him up, to keep him strong, but he knew that Spock would not allow it. So he did the only thing he could, replying, "Give me a moment."

Spock stared at him in silence for two full seconds before quietly departing.

Kirk waited until he was out of sight, ignoring the hollow feeling in his stomach as he whirled on his heel and paced up to the glass itself, shoulders so tense the uniform itself stretched tightly to accommodate them. "Let me explain what's happening here: you are a _criminal,_" he spat, not caring that his breath was ragged again, raging lashing out and drowning out all other emotions. It made it easy to ignore the other pains, focusing all of his attention on Harrison, and he unleashed every pent up emotion on him without pausing for breath.

"I watched you murder innocent men and women," Kirk continued, staring Harrison down, picturing the nine Starfleet officers that would never return to their command, Pike among them, and feeling his anger reach a fever pitch, abruptly grateful that he had dismissed Spock. "I was authorized to _end _you. And the only reason you are _still alive _is because I am _allowing _it. So _shut. Your. Mouth._"

His breathing was even heavier by the end than it had been before, and he knew that if he was not careful, he would collapse, but Harrison did not appear even remotely perturbed by Kirk's proclamation, calmly assessing him from behind the reinforced glass. "Ooh, Captain, are you going to punch me again, over and over until your arm weakens?" he asked, dull curiosity lacing his voice, slapping Kirk more bluntly across the face than any shouting ever could have. "Clearly you want to. So tell me – why did you allow me to live?" he asked, soft and insidious.

Kirk suppressed the immediate urge to tell him that he could remedy that, if Harrison so preferred. Spock was right: he would not only violate orders but dishonor Pike if he killed indiscriminately. A trial would find Harrison guilty of his crimes and safely incarcerated for the rest of his life: a murder would result in the end of Kirk's career and a similar fate, albeit less time served. He had to wait; he had to be patient. Reigning his emotions back under control, he said simply, "We all make mistakes," knowing that Harrison could see right through the diplomatic façade.

Predictably, Harrison tutted, shaking his head slowly. "I surrendered to you because, despite your attempts to convince me otherwise, you seem to have a conscience, Mr. Kirk," he said slowly. Kirk listened raptly in spite of himself, knowing that Spock was right – _he will only attempt to manipulate you _– even as he found himself waiting, needing to know Harrison's motivations. _Why did you kill Pike? _he wanted to know, even though he knew in his heart of hearts that it was simple. Pike had been present, and Harrison had wanted to kill them all. The fact that Kirk and Spock had escaped alongside Admiral Marcus was irrelevant to him. "If you did not," Harrison continued, staring at Kirk in that same piercing way as before, seizing Kirk inescapably in his hold as he said, "then it would be impossible for me to convince you of the truth."

For a moment, Harrison was silent, and Kirk almost wondered if he would refrain from telling him, withholding precious knowledge that Kirk knew with utter certainty would cripple his ship if he did not know it. _He knew about the warp core. He knows. He knows what's wrong. Maybe he knows how to fix it._

_Do not trust him, _a tiny voice that might have been Spock's whispered. _Do not trust him._

"Two-three, one-seven, four-six, one-one," Harrison recited, crushing the voice into oblivion as Kirk stared at him, every nerve suddenly on edge. "Coordinates not far from Earth," Harrison informed him, unnecessarily.

Kirk knew that they were not far from Earth, and his stomach twisted at the thought that anything in connection to Harrison could be so _close _to his homeworld. It had been one thing to witness the destruction of Vulcan nearly a year prior; the thought that the same might happen to Earth made his blood run cold.

He almost did not catch Harrison's next words as he said simply, "If you want to know why I did what I did . . . go and take a look."

Kirk resisted the immediate urge to take off and order Sulu to plot a course for home. Fatigue aside, he felt adrenaline coursing through him once more, propelling his emotions before his mind had half a second to catch up with them. Swallowing back the compulsion, he ordered, "Give me one good reason why I should listen to you."

Harrison's eyes flashed, predatorial, triumphant. "I can give you seventy-two," he allowed smoothly. "And they're on board your ship, Captain. They have been all along."

Utterly at a loss for words, Kirk turned on his heel and staggered off, not caring that Harrison could see the way that he favored his left leg. "Mr. Chekov," he barked, once he was firmly out of earshot of Harrison and halfway down the corridor to the turbolifts. "Mr. Chekov?" he repeated, receiving nothing more than silence from the other end of his communicator.

Squashing the immediate rush of irritation that swept over him, he stepped into the lift and stared at the wall blankly until the doors opened again and he stepped onto the bridge, Spock converging on him almost as once, black eyes flashing.

"I'm fine," he wanted to say, but he could not bring himself to speak the words as he stepped further into the room, his eyes ringed in darkening bruises. Bones was standing near the helmsman's seat with his arms crossed, immediately turning to Kirk when he entered the bridge as Sulu looked at him, unmoving.

"Jim," Bones began, silencing himself as Kirk stepped forward, already shaking his head slowly as he opened his mouth, closed it, before clearing his throat and saying simply, "We need to open one of those torpedoes."

Spock placed a single steadying hand on his shoulder. Kirk closed his eyes, soaking in the comfort from his presence – _you're alive you're alive we're alive _– before opening them again and stepping quietly out of his embrace.

Spock let him, Bones already launching a tirade as Kirk stood before them both, trying to assure without words that he would not fail them.

_I failed Pike. I won't fail you._

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hello, everyone!

First of all, I would like to thank you all for your continued support, interest, and enthusiasm. It means so much to me. I respond to all reviews, even if I am not always prompt in my responses; sometimes I get carried away with my next work, but I always get around to all signed reviews eventually.

That being said, this acts as a 'sequel' to _Irregularity _by popular demand. It takes place immediately after the fight with the Klingon squadron on Qo'noS during _Star Trek: Into Darkness._

I hope you enjoyed!

Also, as of this story, I have officially logged over 700,000 words on ffnet! I'm thrilled that it's a Star Trek story that allows me to break this barrier and I hope to write many more Star Trek fics in the future. I will be updating my multi-chapter, _Revival, _soon.

Thank you again.

~truffles

P.S.

**Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"So we have a three-hundred-year-old criminal on board," Bones said, almost growling in disbelief. "God dammit, Jim."

Kirk did not respond to the rebuke, standing calmly in the center of the Medical Bay as he looked at Bones' readings from Harrison's blood tests. It did not seem possible to him that barely three hours ago he had been hoping to bring Harrison back to Earth in time to catch at least a brief Gamma shift of reprieve before being hauled before the brass to report on his findings; it seemed less likely by the minute that they would even return at all, if their warp core could not be repaired before the Klingons detected them.

_Chekov will sort it out, _he told himself, feeling sick to his stomach with whiplash from it all.

Bones' hair was ruffled and an osteogenerator latched onto his left arm, reminding Kirk sickeningly about how close he had come to losing him. It had not been instinct or intuition that had guided him, then, standing on the bridge of the _Enterprise _thousands of kilometers away from Bones as the seconds ticked down, down, down. All that had existed in his world was raw fear, the debilitating realization that he could lose Bones sweeping over and paralyzing him. He had known that he had needed to act rationally and remove Carol Marcus from danger before it was too late, but he could not have left Bones to die, and so he had waited until the very last second before making no decision at all.

Dr. Marcus had deactivated the torpedo, releasing Bones from its hold in the same instant. Kirk had remembered how to breathe again as he leaned against the control panels, shaky and relieved. "Dr. McCoy, are you all right?" he had demanded, almost in the same instant, as he patched through to Bones' communicator, sparing a moment to worry that Bones' comm had been crushed in the unexpected attack. "Bones?"

It took almost three seconds for Bones to respond, a husky, haunted, "Jim. You're gonna want to see this," prying him off the bridge so quickly he almost neglected to put Sulu back on the conn. It did not matter – Sulu was already there, seated at the captain's chair and grimly determined to see them through the crisis while Kirk dealt with their hostage.

When Bones had appeared back in the shuttle bay, it had taken every ounce of Kirk's self control not to rush over to him and squeeze him half to death, relief and anguish mingling as he said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," into the fabric of Bones' shoulder, a brief, hard-handed hug that ended almost as soon as it began.

"Come and take a look," Bones had beckoned him grimly, right hand still cradling his left arm as he had stepped back, Dr. Marcus already moving briskly towards the back of the craft, commanding three guards at her heels.

Together, they had hauled the torpedo back onto the deck of the _Enterprise_, strapping it into a lift and carting it carefully towards the Medical Bay while Dr. Marcus had explained why the torpedo had launched a detonation sequence in the first place. Kirk had barely heard her, his eyes trained on Bones as they walked, itching to slip a hand under his arm and steady him even though he knew that Bones was physically steady enough to walk on his own.

_Steadiest hands on the ship, _he reflected grimly, watching Bones gesticulate and finding himself utterly distracted by the red fluid still floating in the cylinder on the table. Kirk had known that Harrison was not human, but somehow the confirmation that he was so utterly _different _made him feel even more rattled than before. He did not know what to believe about the man anymore; criminals like him did not arise out of thin air, but Harrison's files were scarcely populated and erratically detailed, offering little more than footnotes with layers of classified overtones preventing Kirk from accessing them while on board the _Enterprise_.

Given time, he knew, he could decipher them more thoroughly and find out what exactly Harrison wanted to hide about himself. On board a crippled starship in enemy territory, he had more pressing, immediate concerns.

Bones' health among them.

_Are you out of your corn-fed mind? He killed Pike, he almost killed you, and now you think it's a good idea to pop open a torpedo because he dared you to._

Pike had been right: irrational compulsion followed him like the plague. Regardless of how true his instincts had proven in the past, he felt out of his league, disarmed and unstable in the midst of a threat like this. There was no backup, no reinforcements: they had cut him loose and let him run free with the best ship in the fleet to chase down a criminal no one else dared to pursue. Once, he might have been relieved at the prospect, able to act without rules and regulations breathing down the back of his neck all the time. (Sometimes literally, although Spock usually kept his distance.)

There were no rules and regulations for this, though, and without even the basic guidelines for how to proceed, he felt dangerously cornered, edged in on all sides by a threat he could not see.

_Why did he save our lives, Bones?_

There had to be a reason. No one – not even a superhuman, as Harrison appeared to be – would wipe out a Klingon squadron and then surrender to three unarmed humans (two and a half humans, Kirk amended; Spock's half Vulcan physiology might have bought them a little more time in a fist fight but not much at all disarmed). He had had them at their mercy and he had chosen to place his fate in their hands, instead, knowing full well that Kirk and his crew would take him to Earth for trial and imprisonment.

_Why did he save our lives?_

He could have let the Klingons do the dirty work for him. It would not have taken long with an entire squadron bearing down on them. They would have been captured, killed, and eventually traced back to Starfleet, where they would have been indirectly responsible for a confrontation between the two parties, likely leading to an all-out war. It would have been easy for Harrison to step back and watch as they were dismembered, but he had chosen to intervene.

_Why?_

Licking his lips when he realized that Bones was looking at him expectantly, arms folded across his chest, Kirk turned instead to face Dr. Marcus and asked, "You're positive the torpedo won't detonate again, correct?"

"Absolutely," Dr. Marcus assured, watching him with firm, unyielding eyes. "I wouldn't let it back on board if I wasn't, Captain."

Kirk nodded, placing one hand on the nearest empty biobed and directing his attention at Bones once more. "Other than age, have you found any other anomalies with his blood?"

"His blood cells appear normal," Bones admitted, unfolding his arms and walking over to the table where the cylinder was, picking it up and eyeing the red fluid skeptically. "His white blood cell count is higher than normal, but nothing that appears overwhelmingly different."

Kirk nodded, turning to Dr. Marcus and ordering, "Report to the bridge. I'll issue further orders after I've spoken with Harrison."

A flicker of hesitation crossed Dr. Marcus' features before she nodded once and said, "Aye, Captain." Waiting until she had departed, Kirk turned his attention to Spock for the first time since arriving at the Medical Bay, calm and statuesque.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, trying to read those implacable eyes and failing utterly.

Spock's gaze flicked to him, briefly, haltingly alert, able to read him in an instant, and Kirk was uncomfortable aware of his own lack of control as Spock said, "Do not engage the prisoner further." Then, more reluctantly, he added, "If you must . . . permit me to assist. I can be of use diplomatically and provide morale support."

Kirk wanted to tell him that morale support would be unnecessary, that Bones would need him in the Medical Bay if anything else happened, that Kirk needed him to protect _Bones _and not _him, _but he could not do it. Nodding once, hoping that his gratitude did not appear altogether pathetic, he said, "Permission granted."

Spock nodded, a tiny twitch that might have been missed by a less observant party, before turning and leading the way out of the Medical Bay. Kirk followed after one last glance at Bones, saying aloud, "I'll be back soon."

"Of course you will," Bones grumbled, his voice lacking its usual humor as he turned to face Kirk briefly. "Be careful, Jim."

Kirk nodded, meeting his gaze and promising without words that he would not endanger him again. _I can't lose you. I lost Pike, but I won't lose you._

Spock stood just outside the turbolift doors, wordlessly summoning the lift as he pressed a button on the wall, stepping inside and turning to face them as Kirk filed at his side.

"Three hundred years," he said, tasting the words. "He was alive in the twentieth century. Tell me why that sounds so familiar."

Spock's head twitched; it might have been tilted to one side, had he been more expressive. As it was, all he said was, "The Eugenics Wars took place within the final decade of the twentieth century."

Kirk's jaw tensed. "So you don't think he's human, either."

"He is human," Spock corrected, hands folded behind his back, expression smooth and unflappable. "Fully human is debatable."

The turbolift doors slid open before Kirk could respond, leading the way down the corridor once more, a chill making the hairs on his arms stand on edge. _Something isn't right. _

He was grateful for Spock's presence at his back, doubly so as he approached the brig containment facility, back ramrod straight and expression schooled into an authoritative frown when he noticed that Harrison was seated on the bench, gaze forward and hands resting loosely on his knees. "Why is there a man in that torpedo?" Kirk demanded, drawing Harrison's gaze to him.

Harrison said nothing for several long moments, gaze cold and empty as he met Kirk's stare. "There are men and women in all those torpedoes, Captain," he said at last. "I put them there."

Suspicion reached a fever pitch within Kirk as he looked at Spock, his cool solidarity grounding Kirk even as a feeling of dread sank heavily in his stomach. Refusing to let the sudden, irrational wave of fear overcome him, Kirk turned to Harrison and demanded, "Who the hell are you?"

Caustic amusement rippled across Harrison's features, vanishing a moment later as he said, "A remnant of a time long past. Genetically engineered to be superior so as to lead others to peace in a world at war. But we were condemned as criminals, forced into exile. For centuries we slept, hoping when we awoke things would be different." Bitter disappointment lacing his voice, he admitted, "But as a result of the destruction of Vulcan, your Starfleet began to aggressively search distant quadrants of space. My ship was found adrift. I alone was revived."

Feeling the gears within his own mind turning slowly, Kirk spoke, knowing that he would get nowhere unless he pressed the point farther. "I looked up John Harrison," he began, resisting the urge to lean into Spock as Harrison turned to him briefly, cold blue eyes unreadable. "Until a year ago, he didn't exist."

"John Harrison was a fiction created the moment I was awoken by your Admiral Marcus to help him advance his cause," Harrison intoned, voice rising with building emotion as he stood, squaring off with Kirk fearlessly. Kirk wondered who felt more trapped in that moment, frozen in place, petrified by that electric, unrelenting stare. "A smokescreen designed to conceal my true identity," Harrison perpetuated, almost silkily. Staring into Kirk's soul, it seemed, Harrison finished with a ruthless finality, "My name is _Khan._"

Kirk could not have spoken even if he had wanted to as Harrison – _Khan_ – prowled away from him, back turned to them.

Spock did not move nor speak, though, and the task fell to him, necessity dictating that he pursue the topic, regardless of how little he wanted to hear more. _I captured him. I have to know._

"Why would a Starfleet admiral ask a three-hundred-year-old frozen man for help?" Kirk rasped. Disbelief mingled with distaste at the thought, his own brand of caustic humor interjecting some authority into his voice as he stepped forward, closing the space between them until mere centimeters separated them.

Every instinct Kirk possessed screamed at him to step away before it was too late. He ignored them, knowing that Spock would be there to pull him back if he fell in too deep.

_And what if Spock isn't strong enough? _a quiet, insidious voice pointed out. _What if Spock can't save you from this?_

He did not have a chance to ask Spock, however, as Khan spoke. "Because I am better," he said simply, irrefutably.

"At what?" Kirk insisted.

"Everything."

Kirk's heart skipped a beat. He had to swallow before he could speak, but nothing came out, and Khan stepped in seamlessly to fill the opening.

"Alexander Marcus needed to respond to an uncivilized threat in a civilized time and for that, he needed a warrior's mind – _my _mind – to design weapons and warships."

Prowling, predatorial, Khan cut down their stoicism, forcing Kirk to respond or be beaten. Unable to speak, he found himself trying to follow the horrifying chain of events passing through his mind.

_How did he know about the warp core? How could he have known?_

"You are suggesting," Spock said, his calm, cool voice offering Kirk an out, an anchor, as he attempted to organize his thoughts, "the Admiral violated every regulation he vowed to uphold simply because he wanted to exploit your intellect."

"He wanted to exploit my _savagery,_" Khan retorted bitingly, whirling to face him. "Intellect alone is useless in a fight, you, Mr. Spock, you can't even break a _rule _how could you be expected to break – bone?" He smiled mirthlessly at them, logic faltering in the face of ruthlessness. "Marcus used me to design weapons. I helped him realize his vision of a militarized Starfleet. He sent you to use those weapons, to fire my torpedoes on an unsuspecting planet, and then he purposefully crippled your vessel in enemy space, leading to one inevitable outcome."

_No. It can't be._

But it was, and Kirk knew it, and even as he glanced sideways at Spock, he knew that he was aware of their doom as well. _Marcus planned this. He planned to destroy us._

"The Klingons would come searching for whoever was responsible," Khan continued, irascibly unfazed even as Kirk's whole world narrowed down to _we're not safe we're not safe none of us are safe. _"And you would have no chance of escape," Khan finished smoothly, gazing at the far wall, back rigid with building emotion. "Marcus would have the war he talked about, the war he always wanted."

Kirk's head ached as he tried to justify the pieces in his mind, slowly coming to terms with what had happened. It seemed impossible that so much had taken place over the span of mere hours: it felt like years had passed since the Kelvin Memorial Archives had been bombed. Forty two lives had been lost that day, a crippling blow in the still-fresh aftermath of Nero's attacks barely a year prior. Starfleet would have mourned them and respected their service in due time had the second attacks – those on Starfleet Headquarters – not taken place within twenty four hours.

Kirk's demotion from captain of the flagship to Starfleet cadet had left him painfully adrift, uncertain what he could place faith in any more when it seemed that nothing suited his needs. He had wanted to serve Starfleet, but they had objected to his maverick style, to his recklessness. _I'm not reckless, _he had tried to insist, but they had seen through him because he did not follow the rules to a tee, he could not oblige their commands in the instance when lives were at stake.

He knew what the Prime Directive was. He knew exactly how important it was that Starfleet officers obey it for the sake of history working out the way that it was meant to. They operated on the fundamental belief that, unless an extraordinary circumstance (say, an unwanted time traveler) intervened, they were on the right course of action on an interstellar level. In layman's terms, fate had a way of guiding the universe towards its ultimate destination, and the journey itself was not meant to break but to embolden people. If single entities decided that they were, in fact, superior, then they would not only jeopardize the lives of those in their immediate spheres of influence, but everyone's lives, the entire Galaxy's fate in a tremendous ripple effect that could ultimately make or break their world.

Interference was frowned upon, and Kirk had been demoted for interfering with history, for _playing God. _ He had been reinstated as lieutenant commander aboard the _Enterprise _mere hours later, however, at Pike's behest: apparently Pike believed in him, believed in the power that he could exert on the universe in a positive, meaningful way.

Yet this was out of his league and Pike was dead, and suddenly he wished that he had not taken the assignment at all.

_We're warping into a trap, sir – I promise you that._

It had been Romulans, then, but Klingons would be no less painful to deal with, should they arrive. There would be no concealing the identity of the flagship, no way of hiding their presence. They would be caught, fired upon, and destroyed. Starfleet would be contacted shortly thereafter, but whether it would be a transmission informing them that their tentative neutrality had finally been broken or simply an attack, Kirk could not say. War would, inevitably, follow.

_We're trapped._

Swallowing, Kirk clenched his hands into fists at his sides and forced himself to remember that he was captain. He was captain of the _Enterprise _for God knew how long (Starfleet would doubtless have strong words for him later once they realized that he had been authorized to end John Harrison's life without any form of trial), and he could not let her down. The crew depended on him to be level-headed even in the midst of a crisis, and universal laws did not permit erasures.

If he had warped into a trap, then he would have to find a way out of it.

_It's Khan. It has to be Khan._

He knew – everything, it seemed, from their warp core malfunction to their mysterious torpedoes to his own elusive existence. The temptation to release him and demand that he fix things was so overwhelming for one moment that Kirk almost allowed it. _He can stop Marcus. He can put things right and prevent the Klingons from attacking._

Then, glancing at Spock, Kirk saw sanity in his eyes, pervasive and unyielding. _Captain. Do not._

Steeling himself, Kirk turned to Khan and looked into the eyes of a predator, a hoarse chuckle slipping past him as he breathed, "No." Then, more firmly, he continued, "No. I watched you open fire on a room full of unarmed Starfleet officers."

He could see it, too, and he remembered Khan's face, his expression promising vengeance as his shuttlecraft went down and he fled to Qo'noS. "You killed them in cold blood," he accused, knowing that it was true and taking comfort in the solidarity.

Khan's neck twisted, his entire body moving as though he could evade the unfortunate truth, but Kirk knew that he had him, pressing forward even as Khan insisted, "Marcus took my crew from me."

"You are a _murderer_," Kirk spat, driving the stake deeper as Khan retreated into the shadows, back to him once more, curving inward as though he could compress the reality that way.

"Used my friends to control me," Khan whispered, and the sudden change had Kirk's attention without his permission, his own tirade abruptly lost as Khan continued, "I tried – to smuggle them to safety by concealing them in the very weapons I had designed. But I was discovered. I had no choice but to escape alone." Bowing his head, frozen in time, he breathed in slowly and reiterated coldly, "And when I did I had every reason to suspect that Marcus had killed every – single – one of the people that I hold most _dear._"

Kirk shivered. It was not a voluntary action, nor one that he wished Khan or Spock to see, but Khan's back was to him and Spock did not flinch. He tried not to let himself be drawn into it – tried and failed, knowing how far he would go if he knew that Bones' life was on the line, or Scotty's, or Uhura's, or _Chekov's._

"So I responded in kind," Khan said softly, clinically unaffected once more as he turned to face Kirk, eyes translucent and mesmerizingly intense. "My crew is my family, Kirk. Is there anything you would not do for your family?"

Looking at Spock – and hating himself for doing it – Kirk knew in an instant of profound certainty that his answer was no.

Opening his mouth to speak but unable to do more than gape wordlessly at them, Kirk closed his mouth, feeling his heart thundering in his chest, one of Spock's hands twitching at his side as though he would reach forward to steady him. His stomach twisted at the thought of losing Spock, at almost losing Spock on Nibiru because he had failed to foresee complications with the shuttlecraft that he had sent Spock, Uhura, and Sulu on into the heart of an active volcano, of the endangerment that he had placed Bones in by bringing him along as natives threw spears at their backs. He almost could not breathe when he thought of Pike, sitting right next to him, _right next to him _seconds before the phaser fire blasted through the windows and his entire world narrowed down to a pinpoint of white light in the hallway. _Get there get safe get away. _

But he had turned around, instinct propelling him once more into the heart of the action as he frantically searched for a way to disable the shuttlecraft, to stop its deadly mission to annihilate them. He had acted but not soon enough, sparing only the lives of Spock, himself, and Admiral Marcus.

_And Admiral Marcus was willing to kill me. _

It explained everything – his reinstatement as first officer so soon (dizzingly soon) after his demotion from captain to cadet, his permission to go after Khan without so much as a consultation with any of the other admirals, his lethal package of seventy-two long-range torpedoes – and Kirk almost could not react at all when his communicator beeped.

"Kirk here," he managed.

"Sir, we've picked up another ship," Sulu's voice – frantic and concerned – informed him seconds later.

_We're warping into a trap, sir, there are Romulans waiting for us, I promise you that._

"Is it Klingons?"

"No, Kirk," Khan broke in, heavy and irrefutable, as he leaned close to the glass, suddenly too close for Kirk's comfort as he turned away from him. "You and I both know who it is."

"I don't think so – it's not coming from Qo'noS," Sulu confirmed.

Kirk closed his eyes, bracing himself and slipping seamlessly into the command chair as he rambled off commands, Spock close at his heels as he ordered the security officers in the brig, "Move Khan to Medical Bay."

"Sir?" one tried, but he was already overriding him with a brisk, "That's an order," as he stepped into the turbolift, Spock at his side.

"Captain," Spock said. "The statistical likelihood that we will emerge from a confrontation unscathed –"

"I'm not aiming for unscathed at this point, Mr. Spock," Kirk cut in brusquely. "I just want alive."

Spock was silent, stoic, and for a moment Kirk was tempted to apologize. Then he said, "I don't know what we're in for," and stepped onto the bridge.

Spock followed him into the unknown, wordlessly standing at his shoulder as Kirk slid into the captain's chair and drew in a deep breath. "On screen," he told Sulu quietly. "Ship-wide broadcast."

"Aye, Captain," Sulu replied, grim and methodical, as the incoming transmission loaded.

_I don't know what I'm doing, _Kirk thought, _but I have to do _something.

As he smiled at Admiral Marcus, an air of false relief settling over his shoulders, he did not waver in his resolve.

_Protect them. Protect them at all costs. _

_I'm not looking for unscathed, Mr. Spock. I just want alive._

* * *

**Author's Notes**: A guest pointed out that a second chapter would be appropriate, so I wrote one. Anyone interested in a third?

~truffles


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

There were twelve hundred lives at stake, and all of them rested on Kirk's shoulders as he listened to Admiral Marcus speak.

"Captain Kirk."

Kirk inclined his head respectfully, dutifully, and smiled in apparent relief. _Don't give into Khan. Don't believe what he says. Trust your instincts._ "Admiral Marcus, I wasn't expecting you." Looking into the face of the monstrous black ship, he admitted, "It's a hell of a ship you've got there."

Marcus ignored the compliment, cutting directly to the heart of the matter as he said seriously, "And I wasn't expecting to receive word that you'd taken Harrison into custody in violation of your orders."

_My orders._

It seemed strange to Kirk that such a thing could exist when operating entirely off the record. No one at Starfleet had been debriefed about the mission. There would be no captain's logs to collect at the end of the day to send to Starfleet Command for evaluation. Ultimately, there would be no footprints, no indications that they had been there at all.

The thought left him chilled to the bone. _Nothing but a war, if we're discovered._

Attempting not to let his fear speak for him, he told Marcus calmly, "We, uh – we had to improvise when our warp core unexpectedly malfunctioned."

_Give me one reason why I should listen to you._

_I can give you seventy-two. And they're on your ship. They have been, all along._

_He didn't lie, _Kirk reflected as he plunged forward, refusing to be intimidated by the situation itself. _One of them is right. So which one is it?_

"But surely you knew about that," he demurred, hoping against hope that Marcus might prove him wrong.

_He can't be in on it. He can't. He's a Starfleet officer – the head of Starfleet. He can't be a part of this._

But as Marcus' expression remained unmoved and his unrepetant, "I don't take your meaning," resonated across the silence of the ship, Kirk knew that it was true. He could feel the crew's anticipation quivering in his soul; a single slip could be worse than an abrupt closure to his career. It could be lethal.

_Marcus wouldn't do that. _

Crippling their ship in enemy territory was dangerous, but Marcus was aware that Kirk was a genius-level officer, capable of overcoming problems that would occupy another officer to the point of ineffectiveness: he would not have been afraid to send him into a potentially hazardous situation even knowing that it could have damaged their ship severely. Even if he had been responsible for it, Marcus had to have known – or at least, believed – that Kirk could resolve it. Kirk would know how to distribute his resources to deal with Khan and repair the ship; it was simply what James Kirk did in a crisis. He fixed things. It was not in his nature to let problems go unsolved, and as soon as he had detected the malfunction within the warp core, he had begun to resolve it.

Tentative relief flicked across his consciousness as he considered the probability that Khan was lying about the conspiracy in an attempt to manipulate Kirk. Khan had already demonstrated exceptional intelligence: it would not be a far stretch of the imagination to propose that he had simply guessed the origins of their mechanical problems. Any subtle indication of disquiet could have tipped him off, and Kirk knew that Bones was not always the best at hiding his emotions, at least not before he had had an opportunity to vent them. While he had not considered Bones' presence to be troubling when approaching Khan to take a blood sample, he had not realized the possibility that Khan could have read Bones' features for any indication that something was amiss.

Even so, Kirk could not shake the intense feeling of unease that Khan had known that it had been a warp core malfunction.

_It's a logical conclusion, _he reminded himself, willing to believe Marcus on any rational grounds if it meant that the world would right itself again. Perhaps Marcus had merely come to assist him, his gravity merely a veil for his concern for the crew and urgency to remove them from harm's way before the Klingons arrived. Saying as much aloud proved fruitless, however, as Marcus' frown deepened, almost imperceptibly.

"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? To assist with our repairs?" Kirk asked, some of his fears translating into rigidity as he demanded, "Why else would the head of Starfleet personally come to the edge of the Neutral Zone?"

_Why would you, admiral? There's nothing here. No one to interfere. No one to intercede. No one to run home to Starfleet and explain what really happened._

Kirk resisted the urge to stand at the thought, restlessness burgeoning within him at the mounting accusations. No one would find the evidence of their destruction. No one would know whether Klingons or friendly fire destroyed them. No one would be able to dispute the Klingons' involvement if it was the former, or prove Marcus' guilt if it was the latter.

_The perfect trap._

"Captain, they're scanning our ship," Sulu murmured. Another time, he might have sounded affronted, and another place, Kirk might have stood and confronted Admiral Marcus directly, demanding explanations for the injustice of it all. As it was, neither of them moved, Sulu quiet, Kirk quiescent.

Still, he rose hotly to the challenge, refusing to roll over and submit placidly to destruction – if destruction was the ultimate end, the final desire – as he asked, "Is there something I can help you find, sir?"

"Where is your prisoner, Kirk?" Marcus asked. There was no room for bargaining in his voice, not a flicker of sympathy. He did not care what became of them so long as he obtained Khan, it seemed, and Kirk realized that Khan's knowledge was more valuable than their lives in an instant.

_As long as we have Khan, _he thought, _they can't destroy us. If we lose him. . . ._

"Per Starfleet regulation," Kirk said slowly, "I'm planning on returning _Khan _to Earth to stand trial."

He knew in that instant that he had crossed the line. Rather than lashing out as he had anticipated, however, Marcus reached up and rubbed a hand over his face, weariness lining his forehead. "Well," he said, and then, "Shit. You talked to him." Dropping his hand, he clarified, "That's exactly what I was hoping to spare you from."

_Spare me from what, sir? Him, or the truth?_

"I took a tactical risk and woke that bastard up, believing that his superior intelligence could help us protect ourselves from whatever came at us next," Marcus admitted, puzzle pieces sliding into place, a rapid domino effect tumbling through Kirk's mind as he cross-referenced the information with Khan's. "But I made a mistake," Marcus said, voice taking on a steely edge that Kirk had not heard before, razor sharp and deadly as he added, "and now the blood of everybody he's killed is on my hands."

_Pike's blood is on your hands. You woke him up, and Khan killed Pike._

Rage swelled in Kirk at the thought, but he suppressed it, knowing that he had no choice but to listen. "So, I'm asking you, give him to me, so that I can end what I started," Marcus finished succinctly, leaning back in his command chair as Kirk straightened in his own.

_I can't. I can't trust you. I can't trust him. I can't trust anyone._

Licking his lips, hoping to buy time as he processed the influx of information, Kirk shook his head, saying, "And what would you like me to do with the rest of his crew, sir? Fire them at the Klingons, end seventy-two lives? Start a war in the process?"

Any rational minded individual would be abhorred at the thought. Wars were not to be trifled with, and initiating one without due cause was almost unfathomably cruel to Kirk.

Marcus' rising vehemence – and utter refusal to acknowledge the devastation that such an action would cause – confirmed Kirk's fears. "He put those people in those torpedoes," he insisted, "and I simply didn't want to burden you with knowing what was inside of them. You saw what this man can do by himself."

He had killed eight officers in a single attack, bombed an Archive to lure Starfleet brass into the open, and even beamed to the Klingon homeworld and decimated a Klingon squadron to surrender to Kirk and his crew. _Why? Why would he do that? There has to be a reason._

It was looking right at him, and Kirk could no longer deny that simple truth.

_He did it because he wants to save them. And we're the only way that he can._

"Can you imagine what would happen if we woke up the rest of his crew?" Marcus demanded, the inescapability of that reality making Kirk's head ache. Khan was a threat to their world, their entire way of life: if he had his way and came into power, then there would be no stopping him. Allowing him to reunite with his crew would be impossible, not while his loyalties remained unclear: keeping him apart from them would be impossible.

_There's no way out._

"What else did he tell you, that he's a peacekeeper?" Marcus asked, the stark disbelief in his voice making Kirk's resolve to – refuse him, assist Khan, whatever it was – quail as Marcus insisted, "He's _playing you, _son. Don't you see that? Khan and his crew were condemned to death as war criminals. And now it is our duty to carry out that sentence before anybody else dies because of him."

Straightening in his chair, his every sinew lined with tension, Marcus avowed, "I'm gonna ask you again. One last time, son. Lower your shields, tell me where he is."

Kirk stared at him, registering the resignation in his gaze and the resoluteness in his shoulders, affirmation bleeding through every tiny gesture. _I will do everything in my power to remove him from your custody, Kirk. You failed once. You will not fail again._

Breathing in slowly, Kirk let his breath go. "He's in Engineering, sir," he said at last, stumbling over the words in his haste to comply, knowing that every moment lost was another moment that Khan could be working towards his own goals and Marcus could be internally deciding not to allow him any autonomy in the situation at all. Refusing to be cowed by the realization that Marcus had to be a collaborator – and, worse, a conspirator – in the ploy, Kirk assured quickly, "But I'll have him moved to the transporter room right away."

Marcus nodded, something akin to relief crossing his features, at war with the doubt darkening his gaze. "I'll take it from here," he said, ending the transmission.

A simple physics theory dictated that potential energy would be transferred into kinetic energy with the introduction of a catalyst, and the moment the screen went blank, Kirk rocketed to his feet, a thousand thoughts whirling through his mind as he ordered, first and foremost, "Do not drop those shields, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, Captain," Sulu replied, stern and unquestioning, and for once Kirk was grateful for the mindless compliance.

Before he could so much as twitch in another direction, Spock was there, however, and Kirk did not have time to tell him that he _did not have time _for Spock's usual littany of protests before Spock was speaking. "Captain, given your awareness of Khan's true location in the medbay, may I know the details of your plan?"

"I told Marcus we were bringing a fugitive back to Earth," Kirk said, somehow finding breath fort he words amid the whirling in his thought that threatened to pull him under. He stepped over to the communications panel, patching through to Engineering and asking, "Mr. Chekov, can we warp?"

"_Sir, if we go to warp, we run the risk of seriously damaging ze core!"_ Chekov replied, sounding harried and dangerously afraid.

_I need certainty, Chekov. Give me something solid to work with and I promise you I'll make it worthwhile._

He could not demand more than Chekov could give, however, and so he was forced to ask, "Can we do it?"

Normally, he would not consider pushing a ship to warp when it could not manage it. The risks were astronomical, and any half-brained engineer would not advise the maneuver.

Still, Chekov must have sensed the urgency – the raw _need _in his voice, because he allowed it with a simple, "Technically . . . _ye-es, _Keptin. But I would not advise it."

Kirk nodded once brusquely, replying simply, "Noted," before ending the comm. "Mr. Sulu, set course for Earth," he ordered, turning to face his helmsman – and Sulu did not need to speak to tell him how terribly risky the move was, either, because he had trust in Kirk and Kirk himself could only hope that it was not misplaced – and waiting.

"Yes, sir," Sulu acknowledged, already tapping in the start up sequence as the ship's engines hummed.

Leaning one hand on the command chair, Kirk ordered, "Punch it."

And the ship launched off into space, one breathless moment of anticipation consuming them as they traveled at speeds faster than light, keenly aware that they were not meant to be moving at all. Kirk noticed Sulu's fingers trembling finely over the controls, relief and worry clear on his features as they sped along.

Refusing to be caught up in it, Kirk turned to Spock, still standing, almost eye level, and asked, "Is it him?"

"The evidence suggests no one else could be responsible for the sabotage," Spock admitted. "It is highly unlikely that Admiral Marcus would be present otherwise."

Closing his eyes and absorbing Spock's confirmation, Kirk turned to sit in the command chair, suddenly dizzied by the thought of dealing with everything, when Spock spoke up, adding, "However, I cannot agree with pushing the ship to warp speed while it is compromised."

"We don't have a choice," Kirk reminded stoically, refusing to rise to a detailed response as he sank into the command chair, ordering, "Lieutenant Uhura, contact Starfleet. Tell them –" _Admiral Marcus is a traitor John Harrison is a lie Khan exists – _"we were pursued into the Neutral Zone by an unmarked Federation ship."

Uhura sounded genuinely apologetic and not a little bit frustrated as she said, "Comms are down, sir."

Kirk was about to tell her to override everything if it meant restoring communications when Dr. Marcus appeared at the turbolift, pale and flustered. "Permission to come on the bridge," she requested, flushed with adrenalin. Kirk's stomach twisted at the thought that something had happened – _it can't it can't we're too close we're so close _–

"Dr. Marcus," he acknowledged, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm as she hurried to the center of the bridge, eyes wide with disbelief.

"He's gonna catch us," she said, and every instinct Kirk possessed screamed _no, _but he did not listen to them, because Carol was still speaking and he had no choice but to listen, entranced, horrified. "He's gonna catch us, and when he does, the only thing that's gonna stop him from destroying this ship is me. So you have to let me talk to him."

_It can't be possible. No ship can – _"Carol, we're at warp, he can't catch up with us," he assured, hoping that by stating it aloud, not only will he reassure her – Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, anyone listening – but himself, when she shook her head, undeterred.

"Yes, he can," she insisted. "He's been developing a ship that has advanced warp capabilities and I . . . ."

"Captain, I'm getting a reading I don't understand," Sulu cut in, alarmed, as a loud, persistent beeping filled the air.

Kirk had enough time to panic inwardly before the first blows rattled the ship, phaser fire hailing down on them with terrible accuracy. The fire barraged their aft until the ship listed and, unable to maintain a straight projectory, dropped out of warp entirely. Rattled, shaken, barely able to move – paralyzed with fear and the reawoken pains of a dozen still throbbing injuries – Kirk demanded, "Where are we?"

"We're 237,000 kilometers from Earth!" Sulu reported, dismayed, as another officer chimed in, saying, "Weapons are down. We're defenseless, sir."

"Sir, we have a bulkhead breach," a second crew member informed.

That alone would have been cause for concern, Kirk thought, somehow distantly but profoundly aware of the absurdity and futility of their situation as the _Enterprise _continued to rock with the impact of half a dozen explosions. _No, _he thought, and then: _No, no, no, no._

"Evasive maneuvers!" he barked, recognizing the uselessness of the order but unable to stand idly by while portions of his ship – his wonderful, indestructible ship – were blown to pieces. "Get us to Earth right now!"

"Captain, stop!" Carol barked, stepping forward and forcing herself into his personal space, a point of solidarity in the chaos as Kirk's vision narrowed down to her and her alone, vaguely aware of the rest of the crew. "Everybody on this ship is going to die if you don't let me speak to him," she told him, very seriously, and he had no words.

He gaped soundlessly for a moment, unable to speak or breathe or think rationally, before everything snapped into place and he ordered huskily, "Uhura, hail them."

Carol stepped forward, speaking into the darkness as she said clearly, "Sir, it's me. It's Carol."

There was one terrible moment that Kirk thought no one would respond. Then Admiral Marcus appeared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as he asked numbly, "What are you doing on that ship?"

To her credit, Carol did not flinch at the appearance of her father, ragged at the edges and bloodthirsty at the core. "I heard what you said," she admitted, quiet and comforting, before continuing, "that you made a mistake and now you're doing everything you can to fix it. But, Dad . . ." She swallowed and her throat clicked with it, stepping forward into the no man's land that had formed between the command chair and the screen. "I – I don't believe that the man who raised me is capable of destroying a ship full of innocent people. And . . . if I'm wrong about that, then you're just gonna have to do it with me on board."

Kirk knew exactly when Admiral Marcus decided that it would be more worthwhile to sacrifice his daughter than allow the _Enterprise _to escape, Scott-free. He saw the resignation in Alexander Marcus' eyes before enlightenment dawned on him, and something horrible twisted in Kirk's gut as Marcus said, "Actually, Carol, I won't."

Before Carol could even open her mouth, there was the familiar hum of a transporter beam, Carol gesticulating frantically as she tried to evade it, shifting in place to prevent being an easy target. It did not seem to effect it, however, and even as Kirk asked, "Can we intercept the transport signal?" he knew that it was impossible.

Carol had time for a single high-pitched scream before being transported, her final words warbled by the transportation.

_A loophole, _Kirk thought dazedly, one hand still resting on the back of the command chair as he turned towards the screen, sudden fear washing over him at the cold look in Admiral Marcus' eyes.

"Captain Kirk, without authorization and in league with the fugitive John Harrison, you went rogue in enemy territory, leaving me no choice but to hunt you down and destroy you," he intoned, utterly unmoved as he turned to his men and ordered, "Lock phasers."

Sudden desperation washed over Kirk, and he was darting towards the screen unthinkingly, one arm outstretched as he pleaded, "Sir, no, please, wait – wait, wait, wait, _wait!_"

"I'll make this quick," Marcus continued, unflinching, as he said, "Target all outdoor torpedoes on the _Enterprise _bridge."

Recognizing the tiny opportunity for what it was, Kirk tried to recapture his breath, winded by the imminence of his own doom. "Sir, my crew was just . . . was just following my orders. I take – I take full responsibility for my actions, but they were mine, and mine alone. If I transmit Khan's location to you now, all that I ask is that you spare them."

_There's greatness in you, but you haven't got an ounce of humility._

Kirk could see Pike in that moment: the blank, chilling resignation in his eyes when he told Spock and Kirk, so long ago, that he _understood _their protests to his compliance with Nero's demands but could not defy him. The ship had depended on his compliance, and so he had boarded a shuttlecraft and, after depositing Kirk, Sulu, and former Engineer Olsen on the drill platform during the space jump, entered Nero's ship. He had been imprisoned and tortured, uncertain if aid would even arrive as Spock and Kirk fought for his survival (and, at the time, their own).

Pike had known that he might die, accepting responsibility for the ship. He had known and accepted it and refused to be bothered by the painful probability. Instead, he had calmed _them, _assuring them that he would take care of it and, in the event that he was not able to return of his own coalition, that they would _just have to come get me._

Kirk did not feel calm as he looked into Admiral Marcus' eyes, but he felt a sense of imminency that belied danger which he had not felt before, standing on the bridge of his own ship. It had little to do with the torpedoes aimed at the hull of their ship and everything to do with the frozen observers scattered around the bridge and the hundreds of crew members spread throughout the ship.

_I can't let any harm come to them._

_No matter what happens, I can't._

"Please, sir," Kirk begged, stepping forward and presenting himself, willing Marcus to accept his terms. _I'm trapped. I'm trapped and I'm defenseless and I'm lost, but I'm not done. Not yet. _"I'll do anything you want. Just let them live."

He could see it in Marcus' eyes for one faltering moment, an instinctive desire to claim kinship with and to acknowledge the humanity of another person before it dwindled into stoicism once more, Marcus' words wresting every last vestige of control from him as he said, "That's a hell of an apology. But if it's any consolation – I was never gonna spare your crew." Turning to his own men, he said simply, "Fire at will."

Turning to face them – all of them – Kirk had a profound moment of grief, of loss, of defeat, before two breathless words emerged from him: _I'm sorry._

He met Spock's gaze halfway across the bridge, noticed Uhura and Carol and Sulu and the others distantly, his mouth dry with unspoken apologies.

_I'm sorry I couldn't save Pike. I'm sorry I couldn't stop Khan before. I'm sorry I let him on board. I'm sorry I endangered you this way. _

_I'm sorry that you're about to die._

Even as he heard the ship roaring threateningly across from them, weapons powering up, Kirk did not turn.

He looked at his crew, and he held their gazes until the final tiers clicked into place, weapons locked and loaded.

Then he closed his eyes quietly, and waited for the inevitable.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: The people have spoken. Fourth installment will be on its way shortly.

Also, this chapter was heavy on the dialogue, and all dialogue is compliant with the films (so large sections of this were, essentially, dialogue from the film). Any future installments will be far more 'original,' so to speak. This was a difficult scene to separate from the original dialogue, however, so I simply worked with it rather than attempting to remove it.

I hope you enjoyed and please let me know what you thought!

~truffles


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

_I saw greatness in you. _

_You think the rules are for other people._

_I had every reason to suspect that Marcus had killed every single one of the people I hold most dear._

"Their weapons are powered down, sir."

Sulu's voice broke the silence, Kirk's gaze torn from the eyes of his crew as he stared at the blank screen, gaping in disbelief.

_That's impossible._

Before he could do no more than mentally cite half a hundred reasons why they should not even be alive, his communicator beeped.

"_Enterprise._" Air rushed back into Kirk's lungs as he stared, bright points of debris filling the black emptiness of space. "Can you hear me?" the same voice whispered, hushed and alert. Kirk's mouth dropped open, bewilderment coloring his features as a grin slowly spread across his lips.

"Scotty?" he asked.

"Guess what I found behind Jupiter?" Scotty beamed.

Regaining his bearings as he pieced two and two together, Kirk added in disbelieving ecstasy, "You're on that ship!"

"Aye, and I'd really like to get off it and return to the _Enterprise _now, seeing as I've just committed an act of treason against a Starfleet admiral," Scotty bit out.

_I can't get you back now, Scotty, but I can ensure that you don't get blown to pieces. _"You're a miracle worker, Scotty," he breathed, relief and laughter in his voice – _impeccable timing. _Shaking his head apologetically, he blinked rapidly, licking his lips in an attempt to find a better explanation of events. "We're – we're a little low on power, Scotty, our transporter capabilities have been knocked out, just stand by – stand by for now," he ordered, stammering in his relief, conscious of Spock's rigid stance not a dozen yards away.

Meeting his gaze, Kirk let some of the tension seep out of his shoulders. _We're alive._

Cool, implacable eyes locked onto his, somehow congratulatory and contemplative at once: _Well-played, Captain._

_It wasn't me, Spock, _Kirk thought, but he did not have time to say that it had been Khan's fault before the truth sunk in.

_Khan was right._

If the ship had been behind Jupiter, then Khan had been telling the truth all along: he had wanted nothing more than to spare his crew from certain devastation. Their own devastation was seen as secondary: they were pawns in his game, freely disposed of as was seen fit. If Marcus had ensconced Khan deeply enough into Starfleet ranks to design _this, _then it was impossible to predict how far the conspiracy led.

_There's no one I can trust._

The realization was chilling.

It had been close – too close – and the surge of adrenaline had yet to wear off as Scotty's communicator blinked out with a sudden, "I'll call you back!"

"Scotty?" Kirk tried, making a soft, frustrated sound in the back of his throat before turning his attention to the present. "Uhura, when you get Scotty back, patch him through," he ordered, heart racing as a dozen possibilities flashed through his mind.

Option one – surrender, option two – engage, option three – retreat, option four – reinforcement, option five – tactical avoidance, option six – strategic disarmament, option seven – persuasion, option eight – infiltration.

His mind latched onto the word before his thoughts had fully caught up with it, logic left to the wind as he hurried across the bridge, knowing how precious their time was. They teetered on the balance between secure and volatile: any slight movement could tip their hand back in Marcus' favor. "Our ship, how is she?" he asked, coming to a halt in front of him, knowing in his heart-of-hearts that he had no miracles to give.

Spock met his gaze, a thousand unspoken words passing between them – chiefly among them _Captain, you cannot do this _– before he quipped, "Our options are limited, Captain. We cannot fight and we cannot flee."

"Noted," Kirk said aloud, heart heavy in his chest. Marcus' ship was down, but he knew that Marcus' engineers were already working frantically to restore it to full power. Once that happened, there would be no stopping the destruction of the _Enterprise_.

He needed to move quickly. He needed to move _now._

Mouth suddenly dry with the realization that what he needed to do was disable Marcus' ship from within, Kirk hurried to the turbolift, hoping to escape the bridge crew's resistance by sheer momentum. It worked – none of them glanced up from their paralyzed relief to persuade him, already returning to their duties. There was little that they could do, but it heartened Kirk to know that they would not abandon the ship. _Do what you can,_ he ordered silently, passing beyond the doors and almost flinching when Spock slid smoothly in beside him.

"Captain, I strongly protest," Spock said at once, his gaze serious but his words trembling on the edge of something more. Fear? Remorse? Anger? Kirk could not tell, but he forced himself not to respond to it, steeling his own voice against the emotional deluge that threatened to capsize him.

"To what, Spock? I haven't said anything," he retorted edgily, knowing that his gaze betrayed him.

"Since we cannot take the ship from the outside, the only way that we can take it is from within," Spock began, building steam as the turbolift descended, taking no offense from Kirk's unyielding expression. If anything, it emboldened him more. "And as a large boarding party would be detected, it is optimum for you to take as few crew members as possible," he deduced, emerging from the turbolift at Kirk's side.

"You will meet resistance requiring personnel with advanced combat abilities and innate knowledge of that ship," Spock continued, every word forcing Kirk to understand the futility of his mission.

_He'll kill you, you know that._

_Your survival is unlikely._

It was strange, having Spock speak against him once more. Strange and disconcerting.

Ignoring his discomfort – or perhaps utterly oblivious to it – Spock finished, "This indicates that you plan to align with Khan, the very man we were sent here to destroy."

_Captain, we gain nothing by diplomacy._

_I, too, agree; you should rethink your strategy._

_I understand that._

Pike's voice came to him, then, calm and resigned, an edge of fear that Kirk had not noticed before perforating his senses. _My dissertation was on the USS _Kelvin.

Pike had known exactly what fate he had been walking into when he had chosen to board the _Narada _for 'negotiations.' He had read the demise of Captain Robaneau and chosen to proceed, regardless, knowing that his ship was endangered and someone needed to be the captain and protect them, even at the potential cost of his own life. Even if it did nothing more than confirm their worst fears – about Nero, about Marcus, about _Khan _– it remained their only option.

_I have to get on that ship._

The knowledge buoyed Kirk, giving him the strength – and the resolve – to resist Spock. _I don't want to deny you. I want to live. But I cannot let them die._

"I'm not aligning with him," Kirk said, infusing every bit of steel into his voice as he walked down the corridor, wondering morbidly if he would ever have the opportunity to do so again. _I didn't even say good-bye_, he thought, feeling a quiet pang of remorse building in his chest, an empty echo of triumph hollowing to fear. Forcing himself not to dwell on it, he added, "I'm using him. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._"

"An Arabic proverb attributed to a prince who was betrayed and decapitated by his own subjects," Spock quipped sharply, unimpressed.

Rather than rising to the challenge, Kirk found that he had lost all motivation to fight with Spock, knowing that Spock's edginess was nothing more than a product of his fear.

"Still, it's a hell of a quote," he insisted aloud, knowing how naïve, how blatantly unaffected he sounded.

"I will go with you, Captain."

The offer lingered in the air, and for one breathless moment Kirk wanted to turn to him and accept his proposition. Spock's warm solidarity at his side – almost palpable through the uniforms as they moved quickly through the ship, not a second to spare for discussion – was difficult to resist. The irrefutable plea in his voice was even harder. Yet he knew that he could not afford to endanger Spock again – not this time. Not when he knew what the outcome would likely be.

_They need you, Spock._

"No, I need you on the bridge," was all he said, already turning to vanish down another corridor, hoping to escape Spock's urgency, Spock's resistance by sheer power of will.

Spock's hand fell on his shoulder, wheeling him around, and Kirk was forced to meet his gaze as Spock said, voice rising in his severity, "I cannot allow you to do this."

_I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Spock, _Kirk thought, but he let him speak.

"It is my function aboard this ship to advise you on making the wisest decisions possible, something I firmly believe you are incapable of doing in this moment."

Kirk could almost hear the _furthermore _in Spock's voice before he spoke, ruthlessly denying him the opportunity to continue with his tirade.

"You're right!" Spock stared at him, doubtless ready to retort that Kirk should then defer his leadership decisions to Spock while he found a more suitable alternative, but Kirk already knew that there were no alternatives and he could not allow Spock to sway him. "What I'm about to do – it doesn't make any sense, _it's not logical, _it is a _gut feeling._"

He waited – waited for what felt like half a lifetime for Spock to respond – but Spock was at a loss for words, now, and Kirk knew that behind his speechlessness, pain lurked.

"I have no idea what I'm supposed to do," Kirk admitted, latching onto Spock's unshielded receptivity to let _go _of the terror and anger and frustration plaguing him. "I only know what I _can _do. The _Enterprise _and her crew needs someone in that chair who knows what he's doing." Looking at Spock seriously, letting him know how sorry he was that it had come to this, he said, "And it's not me. It's you, Spock."

He left him without another word, not daring to say _good-bye_.

**.o.**

Every ache that Kirk had been surreptitiously avoiding seemed to come back full force as he came to a halt in front of Khan in Med Bay. His cool, detached serenity appeared at odds with the ship's utter susceptibility to attack: Kirk knew that he had already drawn the conclusions in his mind about what their next course of action needed to be.

_You might know what I'm planning, _Kirk thought, _but I won't let you win._

Straightening his shoulders and willing his resolve to stay steady, he ordered, "Tell me everything you know about that ship."

Khan's head twitched fractionally to one side, cool contemplation flashing across his eyes. Mechanically, he responded, "_Dreadnought_-class, two times the size, three times the speed. Advanced weaponry, modified for a minimal crew. Unlike most Federation vessels, it's built solely for combat."

Refusing to let his own doubts incapacitate him – Spock's hurt expression still lingered in his mind, pain and remorse mingling – Kirk said heavily, "I will do everything I can to make you answer for what you did."

Khan did not flinch. Kirk had not expected him to.

"But right now I need your help," Kirk admitted huskily, hating himself for it.

"In exchange for what?"

Kirk met his gaze, knowing that they shared one commonality in this universe, one source of humanity that he could draw upon: "You said you'd do anything for your crew." Pushing every ounce of authority he had into the words, Kirk finished, "I can guarantee their safety."

Khan laughed, a soft, mirthless sound. "Captain," he crooned, chiding, gently accusatory, "you can't even guarantee the safety of your _own _crew."

Kirk did not respond, refusing to rise to the bait. _You're right. But if Marcus gets control of his ship again before we do, we're all doomed._

Defeat morphed into distraction as he noticed Bones injecting a small furry mass with blood. "Bones, what are you doing with that tribble?"

"The tribble's dead," Bones replied. "I'm injecting Khan's platelets into the deceased tissue of the necrotic host. Khan's cells regenerate like nothing I've ever seen and I wanna know why."

Kirk stared at him for a moment longer, dazed, before returning to Khan, knowing that he did not have time to waste.

Slowly, carefully, he asked, "You coming with me or not?"

Khan did not deign to reply, sliding off the edge of the bio-bed coolly, his security detail arranging themselves comfortably around him.

"If we space-jumped –"

"Port holes in the cargo bay," Khan replied.

Relief made Kirk's shoulders slouch, a barely perceptible gesture. He had hoped that the _Vengeance's _design would allow for such a maneuver – shuttle craft would take too long, and they could not beam aboard the _Vengeance _– but he had not dared to presume.

Still, he felt far more dread than relief as he led the small party down the hallway, already opening his communicator and ordering brusquely, "Sulu, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

"I need you to align the ships."

A pause, then, surprised: "At once, sir."

"Uhura, how's that contact?"

"We have him," was all Uhura said, seconds before Scotty's voice fizzled into life.

"Cap'n, you are no' gonna like this – " Scotty began.

"We're on our way," Kirk interjected calmly, refusing to be deterred by the fear in Scotty's voice. _I've made my decision. I'll stand by it. _"Our transporters are down so we won't be able to beam aboard the _Vengeance._ Our transporter abilities are down, so we can't beam aboard, but we _can _space-jump."

"You want to do _what?_" Scotty repeated, aghast.

Kirk rounded a corner with Khan and his guards in tow, repeating, "We're coming over there. Sulu's maneuvering the _Enterprise _into position as we speak."

"You want to come over to this ship? How?" Scotty demanded.

"There's a cargo door, hangar seven, access port one-zero-one-A. You need to find the manual override to open the airlock," Khan explained, brisk but authoritative.

Predictably, Scotty protested, "Are you crazy?!" A moment later, he added a little more sheepishly, "Whoever you are."

"Just listen to him, Scotty," Kirk ordered, knowing that the equations barely matched up – port holes were small on any ship, and the _Vengeance's _were virtually invisible from their perspective – but also aware that they had no other means. "It's gonna be all right," he added, hoping to reassure him. _I shouldn't be putting you in danger. I shouldn't be putting anyone in danger. But I can't help it if I want to save you._

"It is not gonna be all right," Scotty retorted firmly, refusing to be placated so easily. "You want me to open an airlock into space, whereupon I will freeze, die, and _explode_!"

Kirk sighed slightly, exasperation lacing his voice as he said, "Anchor yourself at a safe distance from the port hole. It won't be open for long, Scotty."

Scotty did not respond at once, giving Kirk time to lead the group into the trash chute, where a long row of space suits had been arranged along the wall. Kirk donned one quickly, dense, skin-tight material sliding on with surprising ease before melding to fit snugly against his uniform. Khan did the same across from him, snapping his helmet into place and approaching the ladder while the officers Kirk had assigned to him hovered uncertainly, weapons raised.

"At ease," he told them, snapping his own helmet into place. The officers melted back several steps, watching him with quiet deference. "Thank you," he added, before turning to the ladder and climbing down.

The impact on the cold steel was jarring, but he ignored it as Khan fell into place beside him, rising smoothly as Kirk asked, "Scotty, how are we doing over there?"

"I wish I had better news, Captain," Scotty admitted, voices still hushed. Kirk did not know how many crew members were on board the _Vengeance_, but he did know that Scotty was right to assume that they could be anywhere. The last thing Kirk needed was for his one and only mole to be compromised. "They blocked our access to the ship's computer. They'll have full weapons in three minutes. That means next time I won't be able to stop them from destroying the _Enterprise._ Standby."

Before Kirk could respond, Spock's voice came over the line, cool and clinical: "Captain, the ships are aligned."

Resisting the sickening awareness that they only had one shot to get everything right, Kirk replied, "Copy that. Scotty?"

"I'm in the hangar," Scotty said, voice rasping on the edge of a pant as he added, "Give me a minute."

Kirk waited, listening to Scotty's heavy breathing as he explained unnecessarily, "I'm running! Standby."

Khan was watching him, Kirk noticed, suddenly, keenly aware of his gaze, amusement and impatience mingling in his expression.

At last, Scotty panted, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cap. I don't know about this. This door is very wee. I mean, small. It's four square meters tops. It's gonna be like . . . jumping out of a moving car, off a bridge, into a shot glass."

Attempting to reassure him almost backfired. "It's okay, I've done it before," he said.

Khan stared at him, a new expression – profound disbelief – crossing his face.

"Yeah, it was vertical. We jumped onto a – uh – it doesn't matter. Scotty," he said instead, redirecting his attention once more, refusing to allow nerves to overcome him.

"Did you find the manual override?" Khan asked, cutting him off.

"The manual override, Scotty?" Kirk intercepted, refusing to be bested.

"Not yet, not yet!" Scotty panted, once more on the move as Kirk waited, resisting the urge to put his back to a wall and watch Khan as intently as he was watching Kirk.

"Captain, before you launch, you should be aware that there is a considerable debris field between our ships," Spock reminded, his usual knack for catching onto all of Kirk's inconsistencies – and, secretly, fears – adding to his restlessness.

"Spock, not now," was all he said, returning his attention to Scotty as Khan continued to watch him, waiting, waiting, waiting. "Scotty, are you good?"

Scotty sounded almost as impatient as Kirk felt as he said, "It's no' easy! Just – give me two seconds, you mad bastard."

Kirk might have told him that he was referring disrespectfully to a senior officer had the circumstances been any less dire. As it was, he stayed silent, waiting patiently for Scotty to work his magic.

At last, Scotty crowed, "I got it! I've sent it to open the door."

Khan settled into a crouch at Kirk's side, Kirk mirroring his posture as he said, "You ready?"

"Are you?" Khan retorted, activating his helmet's navigation system.

Kirk did the same half a second behind him, ordering, "Spock, pull the trigger," before Khan could best him further.

"Yes, Captain," Spock responded, worlds apart from the vulnerable, terrified Spock that confronted him in the hallway.

_Here we go, _Kirk thought, wondering if it would be the last order he ever gave as Spock began the countdown.

"Launching activations sequence in three . . . two . . . one."

The world dropped away from him and Kirk descended into the abyss.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hello, everyone!

So, this one ended up being even _more _dialogue-compliant than I had anticipated. But I'll do my best with the next one.

Let me know what you thought?

Thank you again for your comments!

~truffles


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

They had no propulsion systems. The suits were designed to by hyper-linear, skin-tight and impermeable, extremely resistant to highly stressful conditions. Rocketing through a debris field several miles thick and easily twice that distance wide was an exhilarating experience: Kirk had to remind himself repeatedly not to close his eyes as he stared ahead at thousands and thousands of metallic fragments.

His trajectory was clear, illuminated in green scale on the space helmet, yet the suit could only offer control, not guidance. Keeping his body at a streamlined angle while attaining speeds upwards of sixty kilometers per hour was no easy feat; it took every ounce of Kirk's control not to swoop upward through the nearest break in the field and abort the mission.

They only had one shot. The _Vengeance's _systems would come back online before he made it back to the _Enterprise _for a second attempt, and if he lost his nerve now, then he would not regain it.

_Focus, _he thought, as he swerved fractionally to avoid the lethal shards directly in his path.

"Captain, there is debris directly ahead," Spock barked into his comm unit, seconds before Kirk saw the metallic fragment rise out of the black, a massive six-by-eight chunk ripped from the _Enterprise's _hull.

"Copy that," he agreed, as he dove sharply to the right to avoid it, narrowly avoiding another piece of debris in the process.

"_Whoa, Jim, you're way off course_!"

_I know, I know!_ Kirk didn't realize he had spoken aloud until he wrenched himself away from another piece of debris flashing towards him, doing his best to keep his arms pinned to his sides in the process.

Heart rate escalating as he swerved back onto his designated path, he demanded, "Mr. Scott, where are you?" The titanic proportions of the ship in front of him did little to help calm the anxiety threatening to overwhelm professionalism, and he wasn't reassured by Scotty's radio silence in the slightest.

_Give me some good news, Scotty._

Instead, it was Uhura's voice that broke through, relaying in somewhat baffled vexation, "Captain, he can't seem to hear you. I'm working on getting his signal back online, standby."

Kirk didn't have time for a retort – _thirty seconds tops, Uhura, I need better news_ – as he flinched when a sharp _crack _resonated through the space helmet's capsule, eyes widening when he saw the crack.

"Dammit."

"_What is it?"_

"My helmet's been hit," he relayed, struck by the terror chilling his fingertips as the crack widened ominously across the screen.

Everyone in the Academy went through the meticulous desensitization process that accompanied enlisting in any military organization. While the majority of cadets worked in closed quarters for their entire lives as full time crewmembers, there were always moments of crises, and in those moments, the potential for danger loomed. Perhaps the greatest and most terrifying among these was the great immensity of space: a terrifying vista of darkness and silence that would swallow anyone and anything whole.

Exposure to open space was one of the worst ways to die, second only to spaghettificationand slow, medieval torture in Kirk's books.

One tiny crack was all it took.

Kirk did his best not to think about it, keeping his gaze fixed firmly ahead even as the green lights flickered unhelpfully.

"Uhura, tell me you have Mr. Scott back," he asked, needing a response, something good, something to carry him through.

If he could last long enough, then he would make it. A few seconds of exposure wouldn't kill him; how long _a few _was would make all the difference.

Uhura's voice came back to him, dismally unreassuring: "Not yet. I'm still working on the signal. His communicator is working, I don't know why he's not responding."

_Because he's been detected, _Kirk thought, heart sinking.

He heard Sulu rapidly alerting Khan to an imminent collision, Khan's affirmation staticky in Kirk's own visor. A splitting headache had already manifested itself as the crack steadily grew in his helmet, releasing precious oxygen into the unforgiving abyss of space.

"_I don't know, sir, I can't find his signal!_" Sulu was saying, alarmed, from the other side of the comm, and Kirk's stomach knotted.

If Khan was lost, then he would be alone, forced to take on Marcus and his crew with only Scotty for assistance. While his combat skills were on par with the highest cadets at the Academy and Scotty's technical knowledge unrivaled, they would be useless in a fight against men they did not know on a ship they had never seen before.

A far more pressing issue asserted itself to the forefront of Kirk's mind, however, when the light, flickering green unit across his visor abruptly flickered out.

_Shit._

"Spock, my display's dead, I'm flying blind," he said, barely feeling the words, mouth dry.

He knew he was still off-course – correcting his trajectory took time, precious time he didn't have and Sulu's frantic warnings were hardly helping – but without a virtual map to guide him to his destination –

"Captain, without your display compass, hitting your target destination is mathematically impossible," Spock condemned, worry bleeding through every word.

In spite of their unforgiving message, the words helped ground Kirk, inexplicably, as he managed a stiff, "Spock, if I get back, we really need to talk about your bedside manner."

Perhaps Spock took the warning to heart, or perhaps his comm unit died as well, for he could hear nothing but the thunderous sound of his blood pounding through his skull as the cracks multiplied, threatening to implode.

He thought he heard Sulu say, "_He's not gonna make it._"

_Thanks for the vote of confidence, _Kirk quipped, trying not to panic as he realized how _close _the other ship was.

"My display is still functioning," Khan informed, abrupt in the silence, and Kirk barely avoided a flinch of surprise as wooziness threatened to override logic. "I see you, Kirk, you're in front and two hundred meters ahead at my one o'clock. Cut to your left a few degrees and follow me."

Kirk did as he was told, sparing one quick glance to confirm that Khan was where he said he was, angling sharply over and holding his breath as he skidded past even more debris, emerging side-by-side with the man that he'd been sent to destroy.

Khan acknowledged him by flicking his propulsion unit, the urgency of the message clear, his face oddly calm, empty of remorse or fear. Kirk responded in kind, matching his pace, already speaking into his comm unit as the air lock became visible against the side of the ship.

"Scotty, we're getting close and we're gonna need a warm welcome. Do you copy?"

There was no response. Kirk hadn't expected one.

As the mechanical intonation of _eighteen hundred meters, sixteen hundred meters, twelve hundred meters _dwindled downward, all Kirk could see was the porthole, growing alarmingly slowly in his field of vision.

_It isn't big enough, _he thought, chanting Scotty's name like a prayer, needing a response, a confirmation, _anything._

Their margin to abort the mission approached, a threshold that Kirk could see as clearly as though it had been marked. As they raced towards it, Kirk knew that he would not have time to clear the ship if they did not steer off-course.

As Scotty's silence continued, it took every ounce of willpower to keep his arms straight and sail past the last barrier between him and escape.

"Mr. Scott!" he yelled, hoping to get through to him through sheer force of will. "_Open the door!_"

Spock's voice joined his, and in that last second Kirk closed his eyes, not daring to meet the seemingly inevitable head on as he and Khan plunged forward –

And streamed through open air, a silent figure sailing past them as they flew through the hangar, dropping painfully to the tile as the chamber slid shut behind them and gravity restored itself.

Tumbling head over heel several dozen times was enough to leave Kirk winded and dizzied for several long moments as they glided to a halt, breathing heavily and deeply.

_We're alive._

"Welcome aboard," Scotty greeted them, sounding a little breathless himself, and Kirk would ask him about the security guard but now was not the time for questions.

Now they needed to take over before Marcus did.

Sitting up, matching Khan's pace, Kirk replied breathily, "It's good to see you, Scotty."

Scotty wasn't looking at him, though, eyeing his leaner, indubitably more cynical counterpart with a wary eye. "Who is that?" he asked, directing the question at Kirk as though he knew all the answers.

(He did not.)

"Khan, Scotty," he introduced, then: "Scotty, Khan." Stretching, he winced as aching muscles loosened, straining from being held so rigidly in place for their flight. Between that and the knock-out feeling of hitting the floor, he struggled to his knees, listening to Khan with half an ear as Scotty unwrapped his arm from the control panel.

"They'll know we're here. We need to get to the bridge and disable the weapons before they get them back online."

With that, he stood, pacing off before Kirk could protest. He was supposed to be in charge of their mission; Khan was his prisoner. Yet as Khan strode confidently down the hangar, Kirk had only time to yank off his helmet and suck in a few deep breaths before following.

Scotty was quick to oblige, sensing that now was not the time for deeper inquiries even as the burning desire to ask clearly nagged him. "Who is this guy?" he whispered to Kirk as they hurried after him.

Kirk shook his head in wordless denial, instead accepting the black box Khan handed him a moment later, weighing it.

As soon as the lid unclipped, he knew what it contained, and a moment of trepidation passed over him before he met Khan's eyes and reached for the first phaser.

Two seconds elapsed as he fumbled with the unfamiliar machinery, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing once it confirmed a lock on _stun. _

_At least they still have these, _he thought, passing one to Khan and reiterating the point.

He didn't need to say why they were locked on stun, not really; it was a formality for Scotty's sake, a show of cordiality concealing the false camaraderie between them.

Rather than looking off-put by the deliberate lack of trust – _I know what you're up to – _all Khan said was, "Theirs won't be."

Meeting his gaze, keeping it level and refusing to see the predator lurking just behind those bright blue eyes, Kirk replied, "Then try not to get shot."

Khan didn't respond, nodding once brusquely before leading the way, anticipating their compliance.

Kirk wished that he could have said something to deny him, to falter him, but all he could do was follow, Scotty close at his side.

They slowed down almost immediately, rounding corners at a brisk walk, barely a jog. After six lengths of tedious walking, Scotty snipped, "They're gonna have full power in three minutes and we're _walking?_"

"The turbolifts are easily tracked; Marcus would have us in a cage," Khan answered without raising his voice or decreasing his speed, turning his attention to one of the control panels and fiddling with its console in private consideration. "This path runs adjacent to the Engine room. They know they won't be able to use their weapons here without destabilizing their warp core, giving us the advantage." Apparently satisfied wih the codes running quickly down the screen, Khan looped around and took the lead once more, taking them deeper in the ship's heart.

"Where'd you find this guy?" Scotty huffed, thankfully distracting Kirk from the uneasy feeling festering in his stomach as they continued to half-walk, half-jog.

"It's a long story," Kirk replied.

Scotty didn't ask, leaving Kirk alone with his thoughts as they descended down ladders, down, down, down, crossing what felt like miles of ships all in one unending strip. Khan didn't seem perturbed by the labyrinthine nature of the _Vengeance_; he exuded such confidence and control of his movements that Kirk couldn't spare any of his energies towards doubt, knowing that he would have to trust Khan – blindly, if necessary; as it so happened to be – to lead them to safety.

Unlike himself, Scotty didn't seem sufficiently reserved on such matters, demanding, "Where is everybody?"

"This ship is designed to support a minimal crew, one if necessary," Khan answered.

"One?" Scotty repeated, disbelieving, seconds before a fist shot out and clanged noisily into the metal chute beside Khan's head.

Kirk watched the melee unfold, breathtaking seconds as Khan delivered two fatal jabs to the security guard's chest before launching him backwards several meters. He missed the next man that rushed at Khan as a dark uniform flashed in front of him, another guard bearing down on him as he fought to incapacitate him.

As quickly as it collapsed into the chaos of clanging metal and fists pounding flesh, the noise ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

"You all right?" Kirk asked, turning to stare at his chief engineer, meeting wide, dazed eyes and wishing that he didn't have to put Scotty through any of this at all.

"Yeah," Scotty managed, scanning the space and looking even more bewildered than before as he asked, "Where's Khan?"

Kirk could almost feel Khan's breath at the back of his neck, a phaser held to his head and an insidious voice whispering that he never should have trusted him, that he wasn't Kirk's prisoner at all, that Kirk was doomed to fail and Spock was right and –

"Shit," was all he could say, staring at the empty corridor in disbelief.

Unable to stand still, he led Scotty blindly around the corner, concealing them in the engineering compartment as he tried to think of a plan.

If Khan wanted them dead, then they would likely be dead before they were even aware of Khan's presence. They needed to focus, re-plan, reorganize, but they didn't have _time. _

"This way."

Kirk jerked, staring at Khan as he cocked his phaser and acknowledged him with a nod, taking off down the corner without another word.

"When we get to the bridge," Kirk told Scotty in a low, serious voice, not willing to take any more chances, "stun him."

Scotty did a visible double-take, his eyes widening even more. "What, stun him? _Khan_? I thought he was helping us?"

"I think we're helping him," Kirk answered, taking off after his former hostage.

. o .

They broke out into a run once they heard voices ahead, Khan's phaser already aloft as they burst onto the bridge, firing. The three were able to take down all but two of the bridge's occupants, Kirk hurrying to bracket Admiral Marcus to his chair while Scotty trained his weapon off-center from Kirk's back, ready to subdue Marcus should he attempt to escape.

With only a fractional moment of hesitation, Kirk turned his head and nodded once in Scotty's direction.

Scotty turned and fired in one smooth movement. Khan went down without a word, phaser clattering noisily to the floor several feet beside him.

Relief mingled with caution in Kirk, making it impossible to savor the small victory as he ordered, "Make sure he stays down."

"Aye, Captain," Scotty assured, face ashen.

Kirk turned to Admiral Marcus fully, then, stony-faced and unyielding as he leveled his phaser and order, "Admiral Marcus, you're under arrest."

"You're not actually gonna do this, are you?" Admiral Marcus piped in, oblivious or, even more dangerously, _unconcerned _with the danger that he was in. The longer Khan stayed aboard the vessel uncaged, the more damage he could possibly do, and while Admiral Marcus wanted to destroy the _Enterprise_, something told Kirk that Khan was the more dangerous of the two.

_It's not logical, it doesn't make sense, it is a _gut feeling.

His heart lodged in his throat at the thought of having left Spock behind. Surely the _Enterprise _needed a suitable captain in his stead, and he'd been wrong to promote Chekov to chief engineer so frivolously in light of extreme circumstances, but he wanted his first officer at his side, then, calm, logical, correct.

He should be the one with a weapon trained at Khan's head, he thought, while Spock negotiated the cease fire and Admiral Marcus' peaceful surrender. Attempting two jobs at once – worse, _designating _the more dangerous one to Scotty – was the last thing he wanted to be doing, then, nerves frayed and words sharp.

Diplomacy had always been a difficult subject for Kirk, who preferred to skim the rulebook rather than live by it. Spock would know exactly what to do in this sort of blank-faced negotiation field, but Spock wasn't here, and Spock hadn't condemned the _Enterprise _to death.

Rage overtook uncertainty in Kirk's mind, occluding the need to watch Khan as he demanded, "Admiral, get out of the chair."

"You'd better stop and think about what you're doing, Kirk," Admiral Marcus bit out, refusing to make it any easier for Kirk as he met him with hatred in his eyes, hatred for Kirk's certainty and reason in the face of inescapable culpability.

"You better think about what you did on Qo'noS," the Admiral accused, leaning forward in his chair, demanding Kirk's full attention even as nerves prickled at his back, tension racketing up his spine as the Head of Starfleet continued. "You made an incursion onto an enemy planet, you killed a Klingon patrol, and even if you got away without a trace, _war _is coming! And who's gonna lead us? _You?_"

He threw the words at Kirk, daring him to deny them, to challenge those hard, knowledgeable eyes about anything of which he spoke. _It's a trap, _a voice reminded him, and Kirk kept his jaw tight and his expression unreadable as Admiral Marcus went on, undeterred. "If I'm not in charge, our entire way of life is decimated. So if you want me off this ship – you'd better kill me."

Kirk forced himself not to respond with the immediate, "As you wish, sir," that threatened to escape him.

He'd set the phasers to stun for two reasons. One, so Khan couldn't kill him immediately in the event of an open mutiny.

And two, so he wouldn't kill Admiral Marcus on sight.

_You're the reason Admiral Pike is dead, _Kirk thought, and cold hatred rose to the surface as he said simply, "I'm not gonna kill you, sir. But I could stun your ass and drag you out of that chair." Then, politely, he added, "I'd rather not do that in front of your daughter."

Directing his attention to Carol Marcus briefly, keeping his weapon and one eye trained on her father, Kirk asked a little more gently, "You all right?"

Carol nodded, managing a brisk, "Yes, Captain," even though it was clear she wasn't.

Kirk didn't need to look at his own hands to see the fine tremors. _Me, too, _he thought bitterly, because there was no victory in this, no way to ensure that the Klingons wouldn't attack and Pike would return hale and hearty and the world would be the same again.

The world would never be the same again. They both knew it.

Kirk didn't have a chance to say anything, though, as Khan lunged for him, taking him down in one swift, lethal move.

_"Jim!_" Carol screamed, and it was the last thing he became fully aware of before his world ruptured into pain.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Long time, no see!

I apologize for the delay. I hope you enjoyed this installment; the next will be coming much sooner.

Thank you so much for your support and your enthusiasm for this story! It would not have come this far without you.

On that note, please leave a review letting me know what you thought. It means the world.

Thank you.

~truffles


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Khan's fists were relentless.

Kirk barely had time to register the impact of one blow before the next sliced through the weak guard of his arms and cut through him, doubling him in half. Wheezing aloud, unable to stop the burning rippling up his torso and making it almost impossible to breathe, he grunted as Khan grabbed his hair and yanked him down, throwing him to the floor with a final vindicative blow.

Dazed and half-conscious, Kirk struggled to his knees, listening to Carol Marcus' pleas and high-pitched scream as Khan trampled over her, racing up to meet Admiral Marcus as he attempted escape. Kirk couldn't bring himself to his feet fast enough, only able to sit helplessly back on his haunches as Khan took hold of Admiral Marcus' skull between his hands.

At first, rationality prevailed, a deep-rooted awareness that no human being could possibly _crush _another human's skull overriding the jittery panic in Kirk's gut that told him that Khan could do it.

_Because I'm better._

_At what?_

_Everything._

Surreality eclipsed sanity, and Admiral Marcus' skull crumpled inward with a hideous crunch of bone.

Kirk gaped, open-mouthed, at the scene as fuzzy images of red swirled before his vision, his lungs laboring to pull in enough oxygen. His ribs ached tremendously, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else, yet the sight of Admiral Marcus' body sagging heavily to the floor was enough to ignite his gag reflex.

He wretched, coughing up nothing onto the floor, hands curling into fists against the cool, unforgiving tile as Khan darted back to him, one moment six meters away and the next, dragging him to his feet.

Kirk did not see quick hands hailing the _Enterprise_, but the bridge materialized in front of his eyes, all the same, the devastated, overwhelming looks of his crew members gazing back in him in disbelief.

He registered Spock at the forefront, his expression mingled horror and concern as he stared back at his commander, a breathless, "Captain," escaping him.

"Now, Mr. Spock," Khan began, interrupted by a choked, "Spock, don't do it –" as Kirk wrested control from him, one fierce moment of defiance before Khan cracked him in the back of the head wih his phaser.

Stars exploded before his eyes as he collapsed to the floor. Aching and straining to hear anything above him amid the scuffle of low, cynical voices, Kirk pushed himself towards the discarded phaser across the floor, knowing that it would be futile and yet _needing _to do something.

Spock and he had always been a team. While Spock could negotiate with Khan, Kirk knew that Khan would not accept his terms long before Spock began to interrogate him, questioning Khan's motives for any potential common ground. Khan would not give him any. He would not bargain; nothing less than his own demands would suffice. Kirk's death was a given in his books, an ultimatum that could not be counteracted. Even though Kirk knew that it was hopeless to resist him, wounded and unarmed, he could not suppress the survival instinct that demanded he try.

So he crawled, aware that Spock was losing ground and he was out of reach, that Kirk's failure had mired them in the unthinkable, that he had led them straight to –

_A no-win scenario._

Khan had the upperhand. Khan held all the cards and had no reservations about the lives of Kirk's crew, of Kirk himself. He would not hesitate to kill them when he saw the opportunity to do so, and Kirk berated himself silently for only setting the phasers to _stun._

_It wouldn't have mattered_, he thought, conscious of Spock's faltering resolve, Khan's burgeoning momentum. _Khan would have killed us first._

There was a pause. Then Khan's foot struck out, overturning Kirk in a single careless movement, and Kirk heaved as every trace of oxygen forced itself violently out of his lungs.

He couldn't move, then, couldn't speak or see anything for several long, excruciating moments, turning onto hands and knees so he could hack onto the floor, blood dripping from his lips. Feeling nauseated by the downward spiral of events, aware that he was about to die at the hands of a superhuman and on display for his entire crew, he tried to right himself, to reclaim a semblance of dignity.

He had almost managed to do so when he felt the familiar encompassing warmth of the transmitter beams, struggling to his knees as the bridge of the _Vengeance _evaporated and was swiftly replaced by the blindingly white walls of the brig.

"Get us out of here now!" Scotty was saying, banging on the front wall of the glass with a fist as the guards stared, bewildered, at their appearance.

No sooner had Kurt shot a confused look at their surroundings than the entire world tilted violently to the right, sending Scotty sailing into the far wall with a painful thud. Getting his feet underneath him took a herculean effort but Kirk had worked against worst odds before, stumbling over to Carol's side and slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Are you okay?" he asked, adrenaline masking everything but the irrefutable need to protect, to comfort, to guard.

"I'm fine," Carol insisted shakily, but her face was white and Kirk knew that she wasn't, hoisting her as carefully as he could to her feet while Scotty supported her on the opposite side.

"C'mon," he breathed, hobbling along with her, feeling half a fool for denying the security guards the opportunity to take care of her and ordering them to report to their superior officers to assist with the injured instead.

"Attention crew of the _Enterprise_, prepare for immediate proximity detonations," Spock's voice barked over the comm, Kirk's blood running cold at the thought.

Scotty didn't seem to have cottoned on, brow furrowing as they hurried along, demanding, "What does he mean, _detonations?_"

"The torpedoes," Kirk explained in a breath, shaking his head in violent refusal and awe. "He armed the damn torpedoes!"

That was the sole warning they had before the _Enterprise _tilted again, rocking with the shockwaves of the explosions. Kirk struggled to keep Carol steady beside him, unaware of anything but the ringing in his ears and the shaking under his feet.

Luckily for Kirk, the brig and Medical Bay weren't far, a mere six corridors apart. With the explosions still reverberating throughout the ship, it was a slow journey, careful not to slip and injure their humble party further. It took an effort on both Scotty's and Kirk's behalf to manage the trek with Carol limping along weakly between them.

Kirk had never been more grateful to finally hobble through the pristine white doors of Med Bay, calling out, "Bones," before he was even three feet over the threshold. Two nurses rushed to help him, relieving him of his charge as two nurses approached and quickly took over.

"Jim!" Bones called out, already converging upon him with all the wrath and worry that a medical practicioner can summon as he tucked a steadying hand under Kirk's arm, holding him upright. Kirk leaned against him for a moment, glancing over as the nurses helped Carol onto a bed.

"You helped detonate those torpedoes?" he asked, breathing still a bit raspy, a bit disbelieving.

Bones looked even more worried when Kirk pulled away, letting him. "Damn right I did," he grunted, at odds with the open look in his eyes, vulnerable and afraid.

"He killed Khan's crew," he pointed out, mildly awed.

"_I've _got Khan's crew," Bones retorted.

Kirk turned to him, baffled, but Bones was looking elsewhere, at rows and rows of cryo tubes.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, breathless, amazed, seconds before the lights went out.

There was a moment of silence, followed by pandemonium as the ship began to list on its slide, a slow, ominous motion that started subtle and accelerated as the angle became steeper.

"What the hell's going on?" Kirk demanded, facing Scotty as the latter stared back, wide-eyed and ashen-faced, shaking his head mutely.

"I don' know!"

There was a screech, followed by the flickering of lights as auxiliary power attempted to reboot what the primary systems were unable to. "We need to get to the bridge," Kirk said at once.

"We need to get to Engineering," Scotty retorted, already taking off.

Kirk had no choice but to follow, ignoring Bones' plaintive "Jim!" at his back.

He would have time to explain and apologize later. Right now, he just needed to find out what the hell had happened to his ship.

The _Enterprise _groaned as it tilted, a mortally wounded beast caught in its death throes. Kirk refused to look at the ship as dead, as _dying_, instead staring stubbornly ahead and, when Scotty attempted to lead them one direction, pivoting on his heel and all but sprinting the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?!" Scotty screamed, but Kirk could only say "C'mon!" over his shoulder as Scotty cursed violently and fluently in his native tongue.

"I swear to God, Jim, this is no time for games!"

"It's not a game!" Kirk panted, dashing along the corridor and almost slamming into a railing in the open atrium, scrabbling for purchase. "Hang on!" he warned, seconds before the ship began to list sharply downward.

Thankfully, he'd grabbed hold of the bars ringing the sides of the atrium seconds before they were tilted, Scotty clinging for dear life beside him.

Kirk didn't have time to explain his motives as the ship spun and came to a semi-flat angle once more, giving them footing. "C'mon," he ordered, dashing ahead as Scotty followed behind, hot on his heels.

The ship was listing downward; the conventional upward climb to the Engineering bay would be almost impossible under such conditions. Scotty seemed to accept this reality as he followed Kirk down, down, down, a slow slip-side of sprints and stops as the ship reached the unsustainable tilts that forced them to cling to bars or be swept off and crushed against the far wall.

"One day I've been off this ship," Scotty reminded fiercely. "One _bloody _day!"

_Systems failing, _the computer chimed helpfully overhead, as lights flickered, emergency red illuminating the corridors in front of them.

There was no sense of time, then. All that existed in Kirk's world were his own footsteps and the pounding of his heart.

"_Please report to your shuttlebay for evacuation,_" a methodical, mechanical voice was droning on.

"There won't _be _any evacuations if we can't stabilize the damn ship!" Scotty snarled, defeated and frustrated, as Kirk clung to his bar and tried not to hear the screams above and below him.

In that moment, one of his own lieutenants lost her grip and went screaming past him, both arms extended. He turned, intending to grab her and pull her to safety, but his fingers were too slow, eyes wide as she slid down, down, down to her death.

_Do you know how many crew members I've lost since you gave me your ship? Not _one.

Kirk didn't speak after that, following Scotty's lead as they skidded into the main Engineering compartment, the sector abandoned but for the frantic footsteps of crew members trying to reach the shuttlebay for evacuation.

_It won't help,_ Kirk wanted to tell them, driven by some absurd, needless desire to stop them before they hurt themselves in the process. _You're my crew. I'm supposed to protect you._

Shaking himself out of his daze, he stumbled to an abrupt halt as Scotty barked, "We need to get to the warp core!"

The ship was already whirling downward, more rapidly than before, sucked into Earth's gravity well a little deeper, spiraling out of their reach. Kirk managed to grab the handrail out of instinct, palms raw and sweaty as he held on for dear life, staring in blank incomprehension as one of the oxygen tanks detached from above and smashed into the bars in front of him.

Somehow, he re-caught his grip. Somehow, Scotty did the same.

He would never know _how, _precisely, they managed it, but Kirk knew as soon as he tightened his fingers around the bar that he couldn't hold on.

Panic threatening to overwhelm him, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and willed the ship to stop tilting, to stop _spinning _for a few seconds so he could get a grip, but the _Enterprise _was no longer in the control of her captain and Scotty's anguished, "_Jim!_" was more than enough.

Kirk turned to look at him and he could see that Scotty's situation was dire, fingertips barely curled around the bar. "Hang on!" he barked.

"I can't!" Scotty tried to pull himself upward, a vision of him falling, falling to his death overriding all other instincts in Kirk's body as Scotty plummeted and he lunged.

They met halfway, Kirk's fingers clasping around Scotty's wrist tightly while the latter held onto him with everything he had. Straining to pull him upward, aware of the limits of his own body despite the monumental strain he was putting it through, trying to get it to listen, to obey, he felt his own fingers losing their grip, panic sinking into his chest.

_No, _he thought, then, a slow chant: _No, no, no, no._

It didn't take long, however; his fingers slipped and for one exhilarating moment, there was nothing but thin air.

Then firm, skinny hands clasped around his wrist and Kirk could have groaned from misery or relief as he was pulled both way, by Chekov – _"I've got you, Keptin!_" – from above and Scotty below.

"Attaboy, laddie!" Scotty crowed.

"I've got you," Chekov assured, holding tight to Kirk as they felt the gravity shifting, pulling their weight forward.

It took an enormous effort on Chekov's part to keep them steady, but he managed it, Kirk hastily grabbing the bar and helping Scotty do the same. They crawled over the railing and shakily righted themselves, clasping Chekov's hands wih fervent appreciation before devolving into gravity once more, expressions somber.

"We need to get the warp core back online so we can re-designate its power to the main power system," Scotty was saying, voice projecting over the hisses of steaming compartments as Kirk did his best to listen and not hear the ringing in his ears. Turning to Chekov, Scotty addressed promptly, "Laddie, there's a switch in lower Engineering, it'll re-route the power, it only works through –"

"Manual operation only," Chekov finished succinctly. "I'll flip ze switch!" He took off like a shot a moment later, leaving Kirk no option but to follow Scotty through the wreckage of Engineering, avoiding loose cables like snakes as they stretched across the ground.

"What happens once we get to the warp core?" he panted, hearing the ominous crackling and thundering of the ship as it began its steady downward spiral, a slow but steep incline that made it difficult to keep their footing.

"We re-route the power manually. As soon as Chekov flips that switch, she'll light up and we'll be good to go."

It seemed simple, logic, even, despite the absurdity of their situation. Time seemed hard-pressed against them, forcing them to move faster, to cram more into every second than even they were capable of doing, until Kirk wanted to collapse from sheer exhaustion about it all.

He couldn't. He had a ship to run, a ship to _save, _and he couldn't afford a moment's rest amid it all.

At last, the warp core loomed in front of them. Wasting no time, Scotty surged to the panel controlling most of its functions and began keying in commands. A moment later a diagram flashed on the screen, red and finite, terminable.

_Warp core misaligned._

The computer repeated the same damning words, over and over, as Scotty stared in open-mouthed horror at the screen, turning slowly to face Kirk, to tell him what he, already, terribly, knew.

They couldn't re-route the power if the reactor was misaligned.

"The ship's dead, sir. She's _gone._"

The way Scotty said it – a grief so profound it extended beyond merely lives lost but an entire _legacy _of beauty and courage and triumph decimated – made something in Kirk's stomach clench, his jaw tensing as he stared at the clear glass panel separating the inner functionings of the warp core from the outside world.

"No, she's not," he protested, already weaving through the arms supporting the massive structure as Scotty squawked indignantly, racing after him and raving about a dozen different reasons why he shouldn't even go near it, let alone _enter _it.

"Do you understand what will happen if you go in there? That place is swarming with anti-matter; that's _highly toxic radiation, _Jim!" he insisted, bulldozering over Kirk's silence as Kirk punched numbers in, using his captain's code to overwhelm the system and successfully unlock the primary defenses.

All it would need was a simple open code. The warp core was his.

"Do you understand me? If we go in there, we'll _die,_" Scotty ranted. "We'd be dead before we could make the climb!"

Panting, not seeing Scotty any more but what he needed to do, what needed to be done – _God, I'm sorry, Spock, I'm sorry, Bones, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry _– he rasped, "You're not making the climb."

Before Scotty could open his mouth to protest, Kirk punched him clean in the face, a cold, quick knock out. Scotty went down and Kirk hurriedly looped his arms underneath his, supporting him to a chair. Heart pounding, unable to feel his fingertips anymore, Kirk hastened back to activate the fasteners, not wanting Scotty to plunge to his death below when the ship tilted again. Still, it seemed to be tipping far less, just spinning, slowing gradually.

He knew what would happen once the spin stopped altogether and the dive reached its pinnacle. He did not let himself dwell on it, returning to the door and, aftter sucking in one last deep breath of clean air, punching in the activation sequence and yanking on the open clamp.

The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, and he stepped into Hell without flinching, the cool glass sliding into place a last time behind himself.

Without looking back, he ventured forth, into the unknown, the intolerable, and kept one thought at the forefront of his mind:

_Climb. Climb. Climb._

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Two updates in one day? I'm spoiling you all, but I wanted to write this and I'm happy to say I was able to finish this chapter in time to publish it tonight!

I hope you'll enjoy. I'm only anticipating two or three more chapters at most of this.

Review?


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

It only occurred to Kirk once he was halfway through the tunnel that he might not make it to the top.

His hands were burning, his vision blurry. He couldn't see two feet in front of him, struggling to keep the end in sight. His tolerance threshold was somehow exceeded and ignored in the same moment as he put his hand to searing metal and ignored the pain. _Climb. Climb. Climb._

His body wanted to collapse, but he did not allow it to, forcing his limbs to drag himself forward in perpetual agony as the tunnel lengthened before his eyes. It became impossible to keep anything in focus; even his own arms trembled wildly before him, barely holding his weight. Each crippling press of soft flesh against burning metal seemed to make the journey longer, dragged out in seconds of piercing white pain.

Somehow – though it would never fully make sense to him – he made it to the edge. He surged past the final steps with an unquenchable ferocity, gazing up at the warp core reactor plant with wide red eyes.

_You can't do this, _a voice reminded, quietly within.

Kirk snarled and pushed himself to his knees. _I have to,_ he retorted, an echo in his mind that drove him towards the massive reactor just out of reach.

The ship groaned underneath him, muted thunder and high-pitched whirs that made every hair on Kirk's body prickle with tension. At any moment, incineration loomed, just under the surface, electrifying his every movement. When he lost all plausible perception of colors, hands a fuzzy blue-white streak in front of himself, he did not panic; he merely grabbed the dark blue bar in front of him, gasped out a breath laced with carbon dioxide and anti-matter, and continued to climb.

Each step was an effort, requiring an inhuman amount of strength to achieve. Every third lunge he had to rest, crippled by the journey, organs already beginning to flicker, losing strength rapidly. Had he no purpose, he would have been dead, passed out on the floor of the atrium and awaiting the irradiation's final statement upon his life.

_You can't do it. You're not meant to do this._

_You're not meant to die._

Something pushed him onwards, giving him that extra bit of strength he needed to summit the behemoth, silver-gray and unforgiving. It was clear to him, even in the haze of his own pain-fogged mind, what needed to be done, and he wasted little time adjusting himself on the angular platform before resting both hands on the top of the reactor.

Testing his weight and offering up a hasty, gulping prayer to a God he didn't know existed, he swung his weight forward, ramming both feet against the misaligned metal.

It did not quake. It barely responded at all, a near imperceptible shiver responding to his herculean efforts. Desperate and undaunted, he swung back for a second blow, weaker than the first, and built up enough momentum that he could swing again and again and _again._

Devastated, he drew in another deep, useless breath, howling with outrage as he slammed his weight forward, once, twice, three times –

On that third blow, there was a moment of give, a terrifying heartbeat where the ground no longer existed and he dangled helplessly on his perch, and then he heard the sonic _boom _of the reactor re-aligning and a shockwave swept over him, throwing him violently against the wall.

Three ribs broken in one innocuous movement. Kirk barely noticed them as he dragged his limp legs across the chamber, crawling through the tunnel, mindless need driving him to continue even when pain demanded he stop.

The thought of dying alone, in this endless tunnel without a light in sight, was unbearable. He could feel the panels growing incomprehensibly warmer under his palms, searing raw nerves until it became nearly impossible even to crawl.

In the end, he made it. He would never know quite how he drew upon that last reservoir of strength to manage it, but he made it, collapsing against the wall close to the door with a gasp.

_Congratulations, son, _a voice whispered, and Kirk smiled to himself in spite of everything because it was Pike. It had always been Pike.

The smile quickly faded as he struggled to breathe, wanting to lean over and beg for Scotty, someone, _anyone _to open the door. The futility of it didn't strike him until he coughed weakly, mouth tasting vaguely acidic, almost ashy. He knew that it was too late – had known, all along – and that was what Scotty had been most afraid of, above all else.

He had known that Kirk would have made the climb, regardless of whether or not it was supposed to be possible. He would do it because he had to, because his ship needed him, but he would die in the process.

He was dying. Extraordinary.

Bemusement quickly gave way to fear as he realized that he was _dying_, unable to even lift his hands anymore, his chest so heavy and tight it felt like he was trapped under a collapsed brick wall, unable to move. He tried to tilt his head and failed, couldn't even open his eyes any more but for a tiny sliver, a thin window into the world.

Seconds passed with terrible finality as he slumped back against the wall, defeated.

_Taptaptap._

It took Kirk a foggy moment to comprehend that there had been a noise at all outside the ringing in his own ears. Curiosity drove him to open his eyes, tilting his head to stare at the figure just on the other side of the glass.

_Spock._

His chest tightened as emotion threatened to overwhelm him, abrupt, undeniable. _I'm sorry, Spock._

There was one consolation to him, one focal point to cling to – "Our ship," he rasped, amazed that he could speak at all, "How's our – how's our ship?"

Spock stared at him, and Kirk had to wonder if he'd even heard him. Sharp Vulcan ears didn't fail him, though, as Spock replied softly, "Out of danger."

Kirk closed his eyes, feeling an unspoken burden lift off his shoulders, a triumphant feeling of satisfaction overshadowed by regret. _I didn't want it to happen like this. This wasn't my plan._

It was hard to even recall their mission; everything had zeroed in on the warp core and Spock's presence in Kirk's world, Khan utterly forgotten. The root cause of it all was injustice and injustice alone; Kirk could not save his ship without sacrificing himself, and he could not save himself without sacrificing his ship.

"You saved the crew," Spock echoed aloud, and Kirk could hear the emotion in his voice, the horrified, dazed, disbelieving register of his grief.

_I'm sorry, Spock, _Kirk thought, unable to put voice to it as he looked him in the eye and said, "You used what he wanted against him." A sly, tiny smile, approving. "That was a nice move."

Sober to a fault, Spock replied simply, "It is what you would have done."

"And this," Kirk insisted, trying and failing to sit up a little more, lifting his gaze instead so he could stare at Spock, not able to pick out fine-points anymore, mourning the loss of precision. It made his stomach ache to think that he would never see Spock in full focus again, eyes watering as he added, "This is what you would have done. It was only logical."

Spock was staring at him with such intensity that Kirk didn't need to see the way his brow creased and his jaw tensed to read him. In some ways, he had always been able to read him, aware of every little nuance that he projected. Vulcans prided themselves on being largely unreadable, but Spock was different, caught in the middle.

He could be understood. He could be deciphered.

It took great patience and no little amount of effort on Kirk's part (some of which was devoted solely to restraining his exasperation), but there was a human being underneath it all.

He had a heart. And right then, Kirk could see, it was broken.

"I'm scared, Spock," he burst out, unable to help himself, clinging to the last solidarity in his possession as even simply breathing became an effort, gasping raggedly as he stared at his first officer through the glass. "Help me not to be." Unable to hold his gaze any longer, he stared ahead, asking dazedly, "How do you choose not to feel?"

Kirk was not expecting a response – not exactly, knowing Spock; he wouldn't _have _a response for such an ambiguous question – but he could see Spock shaking his head out of the corner of his eye, denying everything and promising nothing.

"I do not know," he said at last, voice heavy and vulnerable, allowing Kirk to see the raw undertones lacing his perception of Kirk's place in the world for the first time, unmasked. "Right now I am failing."

Kirk had to look at him, then, had to draw in a breath and force himself not to let go right then and there as darkness began to creep into his line of vision, unwanted and inescapable. "I want you to know," he panted, needing to say it, needing Spock to _know _before all color faded from the world, before all sensation become useless, "why I couldn't let you die. Why I went back for you."

"Because you are my friend," Spock replied, voice even more watery than before, on the verge of breaking completely.

Kirk looked up at him, meeting his gaze a last time as he saw the tears in his eyes, the faintly glistening streak down his cheek. Reaching out, he pressed his palm against the glass separating them, begging without words a comfort in the dark.

Spock reached out and met him, fingers tucked into the Vulcan salute. _Live long. And prosper._

Kirk struggled, straining to do the same, and at last, with a last triumphant breath, he formed the same symbol, echoing the sentiment.

_Take care of her, _he thought, as he stared at their fingers, staring up at Spock again, barely seeing him this time. _Take care, Spock._

The last thing he saw before everything faded away was Spock's hand, promising things it could not keep and gently, lovingly saluting him into the unknown.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Given I've revisited this scene several times before, I did not want to belabor the point, yet I also did not want to skip over it entirely.

I hope you enjoyed this. Thank you so much for your continued support.

There will be at least one more, possibly two chapters.

Thank you again.

Please review. It means the world.

~truffles


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

_You think you can't make a mistake? It's a pattern with you. The rules are for other people._

_If you are presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to lead –_

_Jim, for the love of God, do not use those torpedoes –_

_George, I can't – do this without you – _

_You think you're infallible. And what's worse is that you're using blind luck to justify your playing God!_

_I cannot allow you to do this –_

_Well, then, you leave me no choice but to resign my duties!_

_Enlist in Starfleet. If you're half the man your father was – _

_Let's call him Jim._

_ – Starfleet could use you._

_Doctor, I am – no longer fit for duty – _

_Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes._

_The ship's dead, sir. She's gone._

_He saved eight hundred lives._

_We'd be dead before we could make the climb!_

_I dare you to do better._

Kirk's eyes shot open with a gasp, nostrils flaring as his jaw remained tightly shut, a surge of sensation running through him and making him catch his breath.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," a familiar voice grumbled. Bones appeared from the shadows, brandishing a handheld scanner at Kirk's face as he added, "You were just _barely _dead."

Staring at him, unable to believe that any of this was happening – he was alive, he was real, this was _here _– Kirk couldn't form words, listening to his monologue carefully and trying to digest its meaning. "It was the transfusion that really took its toll," Bones stated, staring at him with his patented _Goddammit, Jim _expression. "You were out cold for two weeks."

"Transfusion?" Kirk rasped, latching onto the one familiarity in a sea of dazzling new colors and sounds and feelings as awareness threatened to capsize him once more.

Bones nodded, tracing the scanner down the line of his torso.

"Your cells were heavily irradiated," he explained.

Kirk stared at him, dazed, as thoughts churned in his mind. He'd known, as soon as he opened the door to the warp core reactor plant, that he would not be walking out alive. His very consciousness now amazed him. Surely no medical procedures had been devised in the intervening time that could revive a man from death by radiation.

No conventional medical procedures, at least.

_Bones, what are you doing to that tribble?_

Kirk didn't need to ask to piece two and two together. "Khan," he breathed, elated, horrified. The sheer _risk _of it made him dizzy; looking up at Bones and trying to place the serious, play-it-by-the-book doctor as someone to try experimental procedures on (admittedly one of his closest) friends was beyond Kirk.

_You saved my life, _he thought, and he would have voiced the same but Bones was already speaking, a gruff, self-deprecatory oratory that left no room for comment.

"Once we caught him, I was able to synthesize a serum from his . . . superblood," he announced, setting his scanner aside at last and meeting Kirk's eyes. He looked exhausted. For a moment, Kirk was tempted to relieve him from his duties. Judging by his stern expression, Bones would not have been swayed by the order; if anything, he seemed comfortable in his place as chief medical officer, pulling rank on him through circumstances . "Tell me," he prompted, gesturing airily with a hand as he asked, "are you feeling homicidal, power-mad, despotic?"

Kirk smiled wryly and murmured, "No more than usual." Then, insatiably curious, he asked,"How'd you catch him?"

"I didn't," was all Bones said, stepping aside.

He seemed grateful to do so, relieved to fall into the distraction of checking his equipment while Kirk fixed his gaze on the new focus of his attention.

_Spock._

It seemed surreal to see him in sharp relief, his pointed ears and rigid jaw all fine lines of reality that Kirk latched onto as confirmation that all of this – however impossible – was occurring. Spock's uniform was freshly washed and neatly pressed, accentuating the perfect straight lines of his shoulders as he advanced slowly into the room.

He came to a halt at the foot of Kirk's bed. It still surprised him in some small corner of his mind that Spock could defer to him; Spock, one of Starfleet's most _distinguished _graduates, one of Captain Pike's hand-chosen officers (and second highest-ranking, among them), and of course, one of the few remaining Vulcans, of any descent, remaining. He struck an enigmatic figure, standing there, barely breathing, and Kirk couldn't help but quirk a smile at him.

_Just like old times, huh, Spock?_

"You saved my life," he said aloud, because he needed to hear it and he knew that Spock did, as well.

"Uhura and I had something to do with it," Bones reminded in a slight growl. Kirk glanced over at him, ready to apologize, but there was no anger in his tone or his expression and he didn't deem to comment as Bones returned to preparing another hypo, wincing slightly in anticipation.

Drawn back to Spock by his silence, Kirk could not miss the way he remained utterly still, almost painfully so. Normally Spock was full of motion, moving about his tasks with a clinical certainty. Now he wavered, no longer certain about what they _were _anymore, and it took Kirk a moment to realize that amid the low, slow protests he voiced that there was doubt in his own role.

Deny it though he would, Spock desired Kirk's approval. It was subtle and easily missed: Kirk would not have noticed the way his shoulders relaxed before even as he hastened to assure that Kirk had performed far more admirably in the line of duty, sacrificing himself for his ship and his crew –

"Spock, just," he interrupted, gentle yet firm, a wisp of exasperation making Spock's jaw click shut as he finished, "Thank you."

There was a long pause as Spock looked at him, calm and regal and unflinching, as he said simply, "You are welcome, Jim."

Kirk closed his eyes, intending to rally his strength so he could tell Bones to take a break before he broke down and Spock to take care of the ship once he'd seen to his own needs, but he found it impossible to open his eyes once he'd shut them, heaviness settling over him like sleep.

He could still hear voices, though, distinct, masculine, quiet in the dark.

"Congratulations are in order, Doctor," Spock was saying, addressing Bones as the latter grunted and shook his head with a rustle of fabric around his neck.

"We almost lost him twice on the table," he admitted quietly. Kirk would have offered a gentle remonstrance that he had already _been _lost, that he had died, but he couldn't make his lips move, and speech was beyond him as his thoughts sank slowly underneath the darkness threatening to obscure consciousness entirely.

Still. Spock's response remained clear in his mind as his first officer said, "You saved him."

"I'm a doctor," Bones retorted, pressing the hypo to Kirk's neck with a soft, pneumonic hiss of machinery, "it's what I do."

Kirk managed a wordless grunt of disapproval at the use of his least favorite innovation, slipping underneath completely as the world dissolved into darkness once more.

. o .

It took eight weeks before Kirk was back on his feet fully.

Starfleet Medical had wanted to keep him hospitalized for at least four, but he'd managed to persuade them otherwise when Bones agreed to keep an eye on him. It meant staying at his apartment for three weeks and submitting to half a dozen hypos in return, but it was worth it, as far as Kirk was concerned, to be out on his feet and slowly regaining command of his life.

Everything had spiraled out of his control with Khan's interference. Even Spock's patient assurances that Khan was being kept in a secure location undisclosed to the general population did little to calm Kirk's nerves. Khan had almost succeeded in taking everything from him: his life, his mentor, his ship.

Khan's blood had given Kirk new life, but it was Kirk – and Kirk alone – who had saved the _Enterprise._

Still, sparing the ship from certain demise was only half the challenge. While most of his crew had gratefully been relieved of duty by Commander Spock (acting Captain while Kirk was unable to), others were still fully engrossed in the process of repairs.

Kirk was no exception. With dozens of minor duties to attend, Kirk's shore leave had been postponed first due to medical reasons and, as he healed, more political endeavors that occupied his time. Starfleet Command wanted a formal interview with him to better understand the circumstances surrounding Kirk's reckless mission to Qo'noS to annihilate Khan (and, subsequently, start a war with the Klingons). They also wanted to know more details about the _Vengeance's _attacks and what had gone so terribly wrong during those final hours before the _Enterprise's _near fatal plunge to Earth.

Kirk provided explanations as well as he could. Wherever there were gaps in his memory, Spock stepped in, seated beside him with his hands folded and his expression utterly neutral. Starfleet Command, seated around a half-circle table that stretched from one end of the chamber to the opposite, listened patiently, pressing for details whenever their answers proved insufficient and making only neutral noises to indicate approval or disapproval.

The process took hours, and Kirk was relieved to finally take refuge – physically and mentally – in Bones' apartment on his couch, sleeping for hours afterwards.

He hadn't experienced homicidal tendencies or even a hint of abnormal depotism since Bones injected him with Khan's blood. Every time Bones met his gaze, though, Kirk could see it in his eyes, the burning worry that he might have failed, that he might have done something terribly wrong to fix an even more terrible fate.

"I'm fine," he would reassure, repeatedly, a broken record, until finally the worry lines around Bones' eyes began to relax. Soon thereafter his sleep improved enough that snoring became a regular accompaniment once more.

Life was settling back to normal by then, even though the scars of Khan's attacks remained stark reminders of what could happen in their future. The Klingons had been ambivalent at best about their intentions, and Kirk knew that a war might not be too far on their horizon. It worried him, and he strove to regain his former strength every day as a result, going through his old training regimes to fine-tune it. Other concerns captured his attention as well, from the lives lost during the attacks to the crew members that still needed him, _him_, as both captain and companion.

He didn't know all of them personally. He couldn't – there were hundreds of them and only one of him, with a mile-thick stack of duties on his plate every morning. Still, he dined with them, he spent mornings going through their workouts, and he chatted with them over chess and coffee. He attended the sedate ceremony Starfleet put together in the immediate aftermath of the _Vengeance's _crash landing with them; he did not offer a eulogy. He worked tirelessly to keep up with the new reports coming in from other galactic powers rattled by the attacks (particularly those on Starfleet Headquarters itself). He even made a point of visiting the wreckage of the Kelvin Memorial Archives.

Surprisingly little time was spent with his beloved ship. His health was still too temperamental for Bones' approval; one morning he would be fine, and by the same evening, strewn out on the couch with a crippling headache. Those were the most frequent reminders that he had died and come back to life. It wasn't a full four months had passed that he could go more than two weeks without a migraine.

Pressing through the challenges, he reunited with Scotty at a bar for the first time since before their chaotic mission nearly fourteen weeks after his revival. Scotty had a lot to say about everything and anything, but special attention was paid to the _Enterprise's _recovery. "She's comin' along well, aye; as well as can be expected under such circumstances," he assured with a wave of his empty shot glass. "Don' expect any miracles form her right no' and you won' be disappointed."

Kirk didn't expect miracles, but it nagged him, staring up into the piercingly black sky every evening and not seeing her there. He loved the _Enterprise_: it was his first vessel, his first starship, his first _home._ He'd been on shuttle crafts on Earth's surface countless times, but nothing could compare to the sight of the _Enterprise _fully finished and ready for flight, her light illuminating the darkness surrounding her.

By six months, he had made two trips into space to observe the reparations. His first visit was spent mostly on the Space Dock, conferring with personnel and addressing the progress of the repairs. He'd been assured that everything was going well and returned a second time to see that the worst of the wreckage had finally been removed, leaving only the empty, dull carcass behind.

He hadn't known what was worse, then: seeing the _Enterprise _battered and beaten or not knowing her current state at all.

"You'll be able to fly her again," Bones promised gruffly one evening, as he followed Kirk's gaze to the stars. Kirk turned to look at him, surprised, but Bones was already gone, bee-lining for his own apartment.

Perhaps most surprisingly, Kirk found Spock absent for long periods of time. Though he did not think the half-Vulcan capable of it, he wondered if Spock was, in fact, deliberately avoiding him. It was not until he settled into the shuttle craft seat beside him for the first time in nearly eight months that he let out a slow, gusty breath and addressed formally, "It's good to see you again, Commander."

"Captain," Spock acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head, rigid in his chair.

That was all the acknowledgment Kirk received, but it was enough. Spock's present was a constant for the visit as they walked the length of the _Enterprise, _examining each department for the repairs and even, miraculously, improvements that had been made to the ship. They visited the warp core reactor plant alone, unaccompanied by engineers eager to display their handiwork before the duo, and Kirk saw the way Spock's fingers flinched before he reached out and wordlessly laid a hand against the glass separating their world from certain death.

Without saying a word, Kirk laid a hand on his shoulder, then, a silent acknowledgment of what had transpired. He would not have detected the fine, barely perceptible tremors underneath Spock's uniform then, but the barely contained rage and apathy was easy to read in his barely subdued expression.

It was not until he removed his hand that Spock drew back, pulling his own arm against his side and facing Kirk with cool, almost unreadable eyes once more.

Kirk nodded and said simply, "Thank you, Mr. Spock," before leading the way to the bridge.

Spock followed, and it was not until they stood, almost shoulder to shoulder, in the newly renovated turbolift before he replied carefully, "You are welcome. Captain."

The doors to the bridge swished open then, and Kirk stepped onto it for the first time in eight months, breathing deeply, methodically, in relief.

_It's still here, _he thought, scanning the unmanned stations and advancing towards the center of the room, eyes roving every piece of gleaning equipment, untouched by the violence without.

As he rested a hand on the back of the captain's chair and gave the fabric a hard squeeze, he could not help but amend, _And so am I._

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Only one chapter left! Epilogue coming soon.

Thank you very, very much for your support. I cannot say it enough. You all are wonderful, and I am so glad to have you around.

With that said - reviews are always appreciated.

Yours,

~truffles


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

_**Epilogue**_

The crowds were gathered to hear him speak.

Kirk had never been nervous in front of hundreds of people; captaincy desensitized people to such concerns relatively quickly, if they were even an issue to begin with. Still, he had opted not to speak at any of the funerals, only attending those that were private or organized by Starfleet itself. Many were curious about his opinion, his take on the matter, as though it were a political matter subject to debate. They wanted to hear him speak again, to assure the world that he had brought war to their doorstep by entering Klingon territory and averted it in the same maneuver.

Uncharacteristically, his palms were sweaty. He rubbed them against his gray pants, pacing the open hallway slowly, thoughts turning over in his mind.

Regarding the most obvious comments that were meant to be addressed, he was supposed to avoid them. Starfleet was still vulnerable and any controversy now could spark a further decline over conflicting opinion. Better to stay the straight and narrow path and orate instead upon the admiration he had for the recovery teams working tirelessly to repair San Francisco, for the engineers who toiled countless hours away restoring the _Enterprise _to her former glory. Better to leave them with a sense of hope and dignity in Starfleet than of trepidation and fear, an uncertainty that lurked in his heart even now.

He trusted Spock, and he trusted his crew, but Starfleet Command was another matter for Kirk entirely. Pledging his allegiance to any faction had never been an easy thing for him. He had put his faith in people and been repeatedly disappointed as a child; standing aside and waiting for them to unveil their true colors before carelessly offering a hand to shake was his preferred method of introduction. Sometimes it would take days before he would truly warm up to a person, extending a hand, offering something _more _than a curt, "Jim Kirk," and a brisk nod. He'd known that at the heart of Starfleet, there was an elite, and as with any organization, there was the opportunity for corruption.

Marcus had bred that corruption deep into the organization. Kirk didn't know where the trail began or ended, but he was not naïve enough to believe that all their worries were over regarding Section 31.

It would come back someday to haunt him, he knew. He had little choice but to proceed according to plan and prepare as well as he could for the inevitable confrontation.

It nagged at him, agitating his movements until he came to an abrupt halt, looking out the window at the clear blue sky, the crowds pressing in, a sea of red shirts. He was tempted to sneak out the back of the building and join them, slip seamlessly into their ranks, become a part of that inquisitive mixture of the seasoned and inexperienced.

Only through sheer effort of will did he avoid it.

As he turned, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Spock Prime standing there, hands folded behind his back and expression cool, calm. He resembled Spock strikingly in such a stance, his jaw aligned the same way, his brow smooth yet intelligently lined, years of experience gazing out from those dark brown eyes.

Clearing his throat lightly, Kirk greeted, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I need to return to New Vulcan soon," Spock Prime acknowledged, stepping forward, gazing at him with an unreadable intensity, a slight smile on his lips. "I wanted to see you, first. Congratulate you on your endeavors."

Kirk opened his mouth to speak, at a loss for words before he closed his mouth and shook his head instead, bewildered. "It wasn't me," he began, reflexively deflecting, but Spock Prime merely said, "Jim," and that was enough.

"The _Enterprise_ is fortunate to have you at her command," he continued, nonchalant, dressed all in black, regal, implacable, as he turned to face the window briefly, gazing above and beyond. "I fear your trials are not yet over, but I know that you will be able to handle them." Smiling softly, he added quietly, "I hope to see you again, Jim."

Kirk's mouth ran unexpectedly dry at the notion that he might _not _see Spock Prime again, a legacy, an untold fortune of knowledge and experience and _other, _a curiosity beyond reaching, a being from another world, another timeline.

All he could say, straightening his shoulders cordially, was, "I hope so, too, Mr. Spock."

For a moment, he thought there would be an embrace, an echo of need and desire warring in Spock Prime's expression (the depth of his loneliness must have been profound, Kirk reflected, only avoiding initiating such a gesture out of courtesy) before he turned and departed.

Uhura replaced him a moment later, striding up to Kirk confidently and looking up, serious and unflinching. Spock shadowed her, his gaze over Kirk's shoulder, and Kirk turned just in time to see Spock Prime's robes disappearing after him around the corner, Spock's gaze adjusting to him accordingly.

The intensity was the same, black and bright and almost shining with an inner light, an inner curiosity that could not be understood. As he looked between them – Uhura and Spock both, one human and one _another_, mystifyingly so – he smiled.

"You ready for this?" Uhura asked, straightening the lapels of his uniform impulsively as he nodded and caught her hands, giving them a light squeeze.

"Of course I am," he assured, and that was enough, as she offered him a wry, doubtful smile before disappearing back around the opposite corner from where they had come.

Spock advanced slowly into the small hallway, back straight, hands folded behind it expectantly. "Though it would be redundant to do so," he began, halting three feet in front of Kirk and assessing him with calm, familiar eyes, "I wish you luck, Captain."

Kirk nodded once, straightening his shoulders and assuring, "We're ready for this."

Spock watched him, assessing him without words, and Kirk was unflinching under his scrutiny, following his back as he left. Drawing in a deep breath and pacing one last circuit around the empty corridor, he straightened his shoulders and marched to the back stage.

An escort awaited and, after a few moments more, a security guard opened the door, admitting him into the light.

The hush that fell over the crowd then was deep, his steps steady as he approached the podium. He carried no notes, no outline framing his ideas; he did not need them. Looking out into the crowd, he met their eyes and promised without words to speak not to but for them.

Lifting his head and staring, bright-eyed and fearless, out into the unknown, Captain James T. Kirk began simply: "There will always be those that mean to do us harm."

. o .

And as he stood on the bridge of his beloved ship two weeks later, emboldened by its newest mission and excited to venture out into deep space, Kirk settled into the command chair with those same words resonating through his mind. It was a sobering proclamation, a simple, serious acknowledgment that awaited every Starfleet member who dared to don the insignia and take the leap into space, a danger that could affect every person residing within the Federation, should Starfleet fail to protect them.

Yet it was a happy burden to bear, because it meant the lives of his crew, his ship, and Kirk knew that, above all else, it meant the lives of his family.

Khan might have taken Pike from him, but he had not taken everything.

As he sat back in the captain's seat, Kirk drew in a deep breath, steadying himself, before turning to Sulu and ordering simply, "Maximum warp. Punch it."

"Yes, sir," Sulu replied, and Kirk watched as the stars faded around them and the _Enterprise _leaped once more into the unknown, filled with an immense joy, fearless and undivided.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: What a journey it has been, my friends.

What began as a simple one shot now rounds off just shy of 30,000 words and nine chapters. I am so grateful for all of your support and would like to thank you once more for taking the time to review. Without your encouragement, this story would never have come this far.

I am sorry to leave this story, but I have other, exciting projects to attend, and I hope that you will share in my excitement for them, and I look forward to hearing your comments on this and other pieces.

Thank you, all.

Yours,

~truffles


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